THE  STAR-SPANGLED    BANNER    WHICH   INSPIRED    THE   SONG 


POEMS   OF   HEROISM 

IN 

AMERICAN   LIFE 


EDITED  BY 
Jf*1^ 

JOHN  R.  HOWARD 

Editor   of    "The    Changing   Year"    (Nature    Verse), 

"Poems     of     Friendship,"     "Best     American 

Essays,"  "Best  American  Orations,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 
THOMAS   Y.    CROWELL   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1922, 
BY  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  COMPANY 


Third  Printing 


PRINTED    IN    THE   UNITED    STATES   OF    AMERICA 


PREFACE 

THE  poems  here  gathered  vary  in  age  from  several 
centuries  to  a  year  or  two,  yet  all  are  American  in  theme 
and  in  spirit.  Some  of  the  youngest  are  among  the  most 
vigorous  of  temperament,  while  the  older  ones  have  en- 
during welcome  for  their  inspiration.  All  have  arisen 
from  occasions  of  vital  interest. 

Grouped  in  their  natural  time-periods,  they  afford 
what  might  be  called  a  moving-picture  of  America's  way 
of  entering  and  of  taking  a  great  part  in  the  world's 
life — from  Columbus  and  the  early  settlers  to  the  days  of 
Roosevelt  and  Pershing. 

Here  are  of  course  old-time  favorites  for  ready  refer- 
ence and  revival  of  interest,  other  stirring  pieces  not  so 
familiar,  with  graphic  depictions  of  events  big  in  Ameri- 
can history.  Adventure,  war  and  battle  are  the  most 
active  incitements  of  heroism  in  all  lands ;  and,  peaceful 
as  are  the  chief  aims  and  blessedness  of  our  people,  this 
Republic  has  had  full  share  of  such  agitations.  There 
has  been  an  amplitude  of  the  warlike  genius,  as  well  as 
heroic  meeting  of  disaster  in  civil  life,  of  daring  enter- 
prise and  achievement,  to  inspire  poetic  expression — an 
embarrassment  of  riches  for  so  slight  a  collection.  With 
no  design  of  making  a  "school-book,"  the  editor  hopes 
that  the  terse  introductory  paragraphs,  giving  dates  and 
the  essential  facts  inspiring  most  of  the  poems,  may  serve 
to  make  the  little  collection  a  pleasant  and  stimulating 
companion  for  those  pursuing  more  seriously  the  study 
of  our  American  history ;  linking  names  and  places  with 
the  heroic  element  so  fascinating  in  its  life. 

The  later  years  have  brought  us  deep  problems, — not 
only  warlike,  as  to  active  sympathy  with  the  struggles 
of  right  against  might  in  other  lands,  but  political  and 


vi  PREFACE 

educational,  as  to  this  country's  being  the  refuge  of  the 
distressed  from  turbulent  old  nations  abroad,  and  their 
conversion  to  the  genuine  American  life  of  "liberty  under 
law" — the  only  proved  foundation  of  prosperity. 

Examples  of  all  these  varied  phases  of  making  and 
keeping  this  heroic  land  and  its  institutions  as  "the  last, 
best  hope  for  mankind"  are  here  assembled.  And,  natu- 
rally, from  a  selection  seeking  compactness,  there  is 
omitted  a  vast  amount  of  material  quite  as  worthy  of 
inclusion. 

J.  R.  H. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

For  permission  to  reprint  here  the  poems  still  under 
copyright,  and  so  far  as  possible  even  those  now  free  to 
the  public,  consent  has  been  sought  from  their  authors, 
owners,  or  their  authorized  representatives.  In  some 
instances  the  control  has  evaded  persistent  search,  and 
the  editor  would  gladly  learn  and  record  it. 

To  the  Publishers,  Editors,  Authors  and  their  repre- 
sentatives whose  consents  have  been  accorded,  thanks 
are  due,  and  cordially  rendered.  In  the  following  list 
the  titles  of  poems  are  omitted,  the  specific  credits  being 
given  under  each  selection. 

Publishers  and  Journals: 

The  American  Legion  Weekly :  From  "Stars  and 
Stripes,"  Hudson  Hawley,  Joyce  Kilmer,  and  from  "The 
A.  L.  Weekly,"  W.  T.  Henderson,  Will  Tasker,  and  J. 
Hunter  Wickersham. 

The  American  Red  Cross :  John  H.  Finley. 

Messrs.  Daniel  Appleton  &  Company :  William  Cullen 
Bryant. 

The  Bellman :  Florence  Earle  Coates,  William  C. 
Edgar. 

Boston  Evening  Transcript:  Katharine  Lee  Bates, 
Amelia  Josephine  Burr. 

The  Century  Company :  Will  H.  Thompson,  Robert 
Burns  Wilson,  Robert  Underwood  Johnson. 

Current  History  Magazine:  Leon  Huhner. 

The  Thomas  Y.  Crowell  Company :  Katharine  Lee 
Bates. 

The  Charles  H.  Ditson  Company :  Katharine  B.  Sher- 
wood. 

Messrs.  R.  R.  Donnelly  &  Sons  Company:  Francis 
Brooks. 

The  George  H.  Doran  Company:  Joyce  Kilmer. 

vii 


viii  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

Messrs.  E.  P.  Button  &  Company:  Katharine  Lee 
Bates,  Daniel  Maclntyre  Henderson. 

Everybody's  Magazine :  James  Church  Alvord. 

Messrs.  Forbes  &  Company :  Nixon  Waterman. 

The  Funk  &  Wagnalls  Company :  John  Williamson 
Palmer. 

Messrs.  Harcourt,  Brace  &  Company :  George  Edward 
Woodberry. 

Messrs.  Harper  &  Brothers :  Florence  Earle  Coates, 
Kate  Putnam  Osgood,  Herman  Melville. 

The  Harr  Wagner  Company :  Joaquin  Miller. 

Messrs.  Holt  &  Company:  Francis  Miles  Finch. 

The  Houghton  Mifflin  Company :  O.  W.  Holmes,  Julia 
Ward  Howe,  H.  W.  Longfellow,  James  Russell  Lowell, 
Edna  Dean  Proctor,  Margaret  E.  Sangster,  Harriet  Pres- 
cott  Spofford,  Edmund  C.  Stedman,  Bayard  Taylor, 
Elizabeth  S.  P.  Ward,  John  G.  Whittier. 

The  Independent :  Nicholas  Vachel  Lindsay. 

Messrs.  P.  J.  Kenedy  &  Sons :  Abraham  Joseph  Ryan. 

The  Ladies'  Home  Journal :  Murray  Ketcham  Kirk. 

The  John  Lane  Company :  Rupert  Brooke,  Henry  New- 
bolt 

The  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company :  George  Henry  Boker, 
Henry  Peterson,  Thomas  Buchanan  Read. 

Messrs.  Little,  Brown  &  Company :  Arlo  Bates,  Ed- 
ward Everett  Hale. 

David  Mackay:  Walt  Whitman. 

The  Macmillan  Company :  Nicholas  Vachel  Lindsay. 

The  Nation:  Aloysius  Coll. 

The  New  York  Times :  Leon  Huhner,  Marguerite  Wil- 
kinson. 

The  North  American  Review :  Edwin  Arlington  Rob- 
inson. 

The  Outlook :  Harry  Kemp. 

Messrs.  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons :  Hudson  Hawley,  Joyce 
Kilmer,  Guy  Wetmore  Carryl. 

The  St.  Nicholas  Magazine :  Eleanor  Duncan  Wood. 

Messrs.  Chas.  Scribner's  Sons :  Joyce  Kilmer,  George 
Parsons  Lathrop,  Alan  Seeger,  Richard  Henry  Stoddard, 
Henry  Van  Dyke. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS  ix 

Messrs.  Small,  Maynard  &  Company:  Witter  Bynner, 
Richard  Hovey. 

The  Stewart  &  Kidd  Company:  W.  H.  C.  Hosmer, 
Wm.  Haines  Lytle. 

The  Sun-Herald  Corporation  for  the  New  York  Sun : 
Sydney  Reid  (Robert  Charles  Forneri),  James  Lindsay 
Gordon,  John  Jerome  Rooney. 

The  Yale  University  Press :  Alfred  Raymond  Bellinger, 
Robert  Underwood  Johnson. 

Authors: — James  Church  Alvord,  Emily  Green  Balch, 
Katharine  Lee  Bates,  Park  Benjamin  (for  Park  Benja- 
min, Sr.),  Henry  Holcomb  Bennett,  Edith  (Mrs.  George) 
Boker  (for  George  Henry  Boker),  Witter  Bynner,  Amelia 
Josephine  Burr,  Richard  Burton,  Florence  Earle  Coates, 
Aloysius  Coll,  Wm.  C.  Edgar,  Arthur  Guiterman,  Daniel 
Henderson,  Frederick  L.  Hosmer,  Leon  Huhner,  John 
Howard  Jewett,  Harry  Kemp,  Mrs.  Joyce  Kilmer,  Mrs. 
H.  C.  King,  Murray  Ketcham  Kirk,  Nicholas  Vachel 
Lindsay,  Charles  F.  Lummis,  Harriet  Monroe,  Wallace 
Rice  (for  himself  and  Barrett  Eastman),  Edward  Ar- 
lington Robinson,  Arthur  Peterson  (for  Henry  Peter- 
son), Edna  Dean  Proctor,  Arthur  Somers  Roche  (for 
James  Joffrey  Roche),  John  Jerome  Rooney,  Clinton 
Scollard,  Wendell  Phillips  Stafford,  Roger  J.  Sterrett, 
Will  Tasker,  Will  Henry  Thompson,  Richard  H.  Tither- 
ington,  Eleanor  Duncan  Wood,  George  Edward  Wood- 
berry. 

For  many  pieces  by  famous  authors  now  passed  away, 
so  far  as  practicable  their  authorized  representatives  have 
given  their  permissions. 

Besides  the  necessary  search  in  original  works,  current 
periodicals,  etc.,  the  editor  has  taken  counsel  also  of 
other  poetical  collections,  and  found  scattering  relevant 
material.  Such  are :  "Our  Country  in  Poem  and  Prose," 
Eleanor  Persons  (now  Mrs.  Willett  Clark)  editor,  The 
American  Book  Company,  publishers;  "Beacon  Lights 
of  Patriotism,"  Henry  B.  Carrington,  editor,  and  "Bal- 
lads of  American  Bravery,"  Clinton  Scollard,  editor, 
Messrs.  Silver,  Burdett  &  Company,  publishers ;  "Sug- 
gestions for  Memorial  Day,"  Bessie  Bacon  Goodrich, 


x  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

editor,  Vermont  State  Normal  School,  publishers;  "The 
Story  of  Our  National  Ballads,"  by  C.  A.  Browne,  the 
Thomas  Y.  Crowell  Company,  publishers;  "Poems  of 
American  Patriotism,"  Brander  Matthews,  editor,  Charles 
Scribner's  Sons,  publishers ;  and  others. 

The  most  widely  interesting  collection  was  "Poems  of 
American  History,"  Burton  Egbert  Stevenson,  editor, 
The  Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  publishers.  That,  with 
above  eight  hundred  poems,  admirably  annotated  and 
indexed,  is  a  mine  of  historical  and  poetic  interest.  From 
it, — besides  certain  poems  from  what  might  be  termed 
"the  common  stock,"  found  there  and  elsewhere — have 
been  here  reprinted  with  the  editor's  permission  four 
pithy  anonymous  pieces  (from  old-time  journals),  with 
"Manassas"  by  Catharine  M.  Warfield  and  "Eight  Volun- 
teers" by  Lansing  A.  Bailey,  not  elsewhere  found,  each 
so  credited  in  its  place. 

If  the  present  slight  collection  arouses  interest,  the 
reader  should  find  a  broader  satisfaction  in  Mr.  Steven- 
son's comprehensive  volume,  notable  for  its  apposite 
selection,  its  abounding  variety  and  its  exactitude  of  text 
— the  latter  point  being  of  especial  value  in  this  day  of 
many  anthologies. 

J.  R.  H. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INDEX   OF  TITLES xiii 

PART 

I.     THE   NEW    CONTINENT 1 

II.     REVOLUTION  :  INDEPENDENCE 34 

III.  THE  MORE  PERFECT  UNION 86 

IV.  SECESSION  OR  UNION   PRESERVED? 154 

V.     THE   GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE 239 

VI.    THE  WORLD  WAR:   OUTLOOK 297 

INDEX   OF  AUTHORS 343 

INDEX   OF   FIRST   LINES 347 


xi 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN     . 
ABRAHAM    LINCOLN    WALKS    AT 
MIDNIGHT      .... 
AD   PATRIAM        .         . 
ALAMANCE  .... 

ALIEN,   THE         .... 
AMERICA      ..... 
AMERICA      .         .         .         .         . 
AMERICA  FOR  ME! 
AMERICA,  IN  HONOR  OF 
AMERICA,  OUR  COUNTRY 
AMERICA  RESURGENT   . 
AMERICA'S  ANSWER 
AMERICA'S  FUTURE       . 
AMERICA  THE  BEAUTIFUL    . 
AMERICAN  DESTINY 
AMERICAN    FLAG,    THE 
AMERICAN  PEOPLE  TO  THE  ALLIES 
AMERICAN  SAILORS,  THE  FIRST  . 
AN  AMERICAN  ACE     .         .         . 

BALLAD  OF  PACO  TOWN 
BARBARA  FRIETCHIE     . 
BARTHOLDI  STATUE,  THE     . 
BATTLE-CRY  OF   FREEDOM 
BATTLE  HYMN  OF  THE  REPUBLIC 
BATTLE  OF  STONINGTON,  THE 
BATTLE  OF  TRENTON    . 
BATTLE  SONG       .... 
BEACON   LIGHT,   THE:   THEODORE 

ROOSEVELT     .... 
BEFORE  VICKSBURG 
BIVOUAC  OF  THE  DEAD,  THE 
BLACK  REGIMENT,   THE 
BLOOD  Is  THICKER  THAN  WATER 
BLUE  AND  THE  GRAY,  THE  . 
BOASTING  OF  SIR  PETER  PARKER, 

THE 

BOSTON   ("THE  TEA  PARTY")     '. 
BOSTON  HYMN    .... 

xiil 


Tom   Taylor        .  .  230 

Nicholas  V.  Lindsay  .  298 

Clinton  Scollard  .  .  29 

S.   W.   Whiting   .  .  38 

Daniel  Mel.  Henderson  332 

Samuel  Francis  Smith  120 

Eleanor  D.    Wood  .  341 

Henry   Van  Dyke  .  336 

Alice  Meynell      .  .  306 

Arlo  Bates  ...  21 

Wendell  P.  Stafford  .  301 

R.   W.  Lillard     .  .  315 

Walt    Whitman    .  .  239 

Katherine  L.  Bates  .  4 

Bishop  Berkeley  .  .  19 

Joseph  R.  Drake  .  68 

Florence  E.  Coates  .  302 

Wallace  Rice       .  .  5 

James  C.  Alvord.  .  322 

Clinton    Scollard.  .  282 

John  G.    Whittier  .  182 

John  G.   Whittier  .  252 

George  Frederick  Root  168 

Julia   Ward  Hozve  .  173 

Philip   Freneau    .  .  104 

Anonymous          .  .  71 

Robert  B.   Wilson  .  259 

Murray  K.   Kirk  .  300 

George  H.  Boker  .  206 

Theodora  O'Hara  .  141 

George  H.  Boker  .  194 

Wallace  Rice       .  .  149 

Francis  M.   Finch  .  241 

Clinton    Scollard  .  61 

R.  W.  Emerson  .  .  39 

R.  W.  Emerson  .  .  187 


XIV 


INDEX    OF   TITLES 


BOSTON   MASSACRE,  THE 
BRAVE  AT  HOME,  THE  . 
BROTHER     JONATHAN'S     LAMENT 
FOR  SISTER  CAROLINE    . 

CABLE  HYMN,  THE    . 

CAVALRY  SONG    .... 

COLUMBIA 

COLUMBIA'S  BANNER   . 
COLUMBIA'S   EMBLEM    .     .    . 
COLUMBIA,     THE     GEM     OF     THE 
OCEAN  .... 

COLUMBUS  AND  THE  MAYFLOWER 

CONCORD  HYMN  .... 
CONEMAUGH         .... 
CONQUERED  BANNER,  THE  . 
CORNWALLIS'S  SURRENDER    . 
CRAVEN        ..... 
CUB  SAWBONES   . 


DAY,  THE 

DEEDS  OF  VALOR  AT  SANTIAGO   . 
DEFEAT  AND  VICTORY  . 

DEMOS 

DEVOTION  TO   COUNTRY 

DEWEY   AT   MANILA    . 

DIRGE  FOR  A  SOLDIER  . 

DIXIE  ..... 

DOER  OF  HOPELESS  TASKS  . 

DOWN  THE  LITTLE  BIG  HORN 

DRIVING  HOME  THE  Cows  . 

EIGHT   VOLUNTEERS     . 
EMPIRE  SHIP,  THE 
EVE  OF  ELECTION,  THE 
EXODUS  FOR  OREGON,  THE  . 

FAITHFUL  UNTO  DEATH  (Mc- 
KINLEY)  .... 

FAREWELL,    PEACE 

FIGHT  OF  THE  ARMSTRONG  PRI- 
VATEER .... 

FIRST  AMERICAN  SAILORS,  THE  . 

FLAG  GOES  BY,  THE   . 

FLAG  IN  BELGIUM,  THE 

FOES,  YET  BROTHERS   . 

FOURTH  OF  JULY,  THE 


Paul  Revere        .         •      37 
Thomas  B.  Read          .      84 

Oliver    W.   Holmes  1ST* 


John  G.   Whittier 

244 

Rossiter    W.    Raymond 

176 

Timothy    Divight 

64 

Edna  Dean   Proctor    . 

266 

Edna  D.  Proctor 

30 

Thomas   a   Becket 

126 

Richard    M.    M  iln  e  s 

(Lord  H  ought  on)     . 

17 

R.  W.  Emerson  . 

50 

Elisabeth  S.  P.   Ward. 

254 

Abram  J.  Ryan   . 

234 

Anonymous 

81 

Henry  Neivbolt    . 

213 

Sydney    Reid     (Robert 

Charles  Forneri) 

270 

Witter    Bynner    . 

329 

Clinton  Scollard 

268 

Wallace  Rice 

103 

Edivin   A.    Robinson  . 

334 

A.   B.   Street 

36 

Robert    U.    Johnson     . 

260 

George  H.  Boker 

180 

Albert   Pike 

164 

James  R.   Lowell 

236 

Francis  Brooks    . 

249 

Kate  Putnam  Osgood. 

199 

Lansing   C.  Bailey 

275 

Nixon   Waterman 

128 

John  G.  Whittier 

147 

Joaquin    Miller    . 

130 

Richard  H.    Tithering- 

ton  .         .         .  .  287 

Anonymous          .  .  98 

James  J.  Roche   .  .113 

Wallace  Rice       .  .  S 

Henry  H.  Bennett  .  264 

William  C.   Edgar  .  326 

Henry  Peterson  .  .  243 

John  Pierpont     .  .  63 


INDEX    OF    TITLES 


xv 


FREEDOM 

FREEING  OF  ILLINOIS,  THE  . 
FREMONT,  JOHN  CHARLES  . 
FREMONT,  To  JOHN  C. 

GEORGE   WASHINGTON 
GETTYSBURG          .... 
GETTYSBURG,  THE  HIGH  TIDE  AT 
GLORY        HALLELUJAH         (John 

Brown's    Body)     . 
GRANT         ..... 

HAIL  COLUMBIA  .... 
HOME,  SWEET  HOME   . 

Ho  SEA       BlGLOW      ON       WAR       FOR 

SLAVERY         .... 
How  WE  BECAME  A  NATION 
How    WE    BURNED   THE    PHILA- 
DELPHIA        .... 
HYMN  OF  THE  WEST  . 


James  Russell  Lowell  .  85 

Wallace    Rice      .         .  79 

Charles   F.   Lummis     .  125 

John  G.    Whittier.        .  175 

John   Hall  Ingham      .  85 

Horatio  C.  King           .  201 

Will  Henry   Thompson  203 

Charles  Sprague  Hall.  153 

Walt   Whitman   .         .  253 

Jos.   Hopkinson    .         .  90 

John  Howard  Payne   .  119 

James  R.  Lowell.         .  138 

Harriet  P.  Spofford    .  42 

Barrett  Eastman           .  94 

Edmund  C.  Stedman  .  290 


ICARUS         ..... 

I    HAVE    A    RENDEZVOUS    WITH 
DEATH  .... 

IN  HONOR  OF  AMERICA 
IN  THESE  DAYS  .         .         . 
ISLANDS  OF  THE  SEA,  THE  . 

JACKSON  AT  NEW  ORLEANS 
JOHN  BROWN'S  BODY  (Glory  Hal- 
lelujah)         .... 
JOHN   CHARLES   FREMONT    . 
JOINED  THE  BLUES 
JUST  THINKIN'  .... 


KANSAS  EMIGRANTS,  THE  . 
KEENAN'S  CHARGE 

LAND  Ho !   . 

LANDING  OF  THE  PILGRIMS,  THE  . 
LAUS  DEO!  . 
LEXINGTON  . 

LIBERTY'S  LATEST  DAUGHTER 
LIBERTY  TREE      .... 
LINCOLN,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  PEO- 
PLE 


Alfred    Raymond    Bel- 
linger       .         .  .  323 

Alan  Seeger        .  .314 

Alice  ^Meynell     .  .  306 

Harriet  Monroe  .  .  256 

George  E.    Woodberry  285 

Wallace    Rice      .  .117 

Charles  Sprague  Hall  .  153 

Charles    F.    Lummis  .  125 

John  J.  Rooney   .  .  273 
Hudson  Hawley,   Pvt., 

M.G.,  Battalion  .  318 

John    G.    Whittier  .  146 

Geo.  P.  Lathrop  .  .  190 

Edna  Dean  Proctor  .  3 

Felicia  Hemans   .  .  15 

John  G.  Whittier  .  218 

O.    W.  Holmes   .  .  48 

Bayard    Taylor    .  .  247 

Thomas   Paine     .  .  34 

Edwin  Markham  224 


XVI 


INDEX    OF    TITLES 


LITTLE  STAR  IN  THE  WINDOW    . 
LONELY  BUGLE  GRIEVES,  THE     . 

MANASSAS  ..... 
MARCHING  THROUGH  GEORGIA  . 
MECKLENBURG  .... 
MEN  BEHIND  THE  GUNS,  THE  . 
MEN  OF  THE  ALAMO,  THE  . 
MEN  OF  THE  NORTH  AND  WEST  . 
MESSAGE,  THE  .... 
MOLLY  PITCHER  .... 
MOUNT  VERNON,  THE  HOME  OF 

WASHINGTON 

Music  IN  CAMP  .... 
MY  MARYLAND   .... 

NATHAN   HALE   .... 
NATIONAL    SONG 
NEW  CRUSADE,  THE   . 

O  BEAUTIFUL,  MY  COUNTRY 
O   CAPTAIN  !    MY   CAPTAIN  ! 
ODE  TO  COLUMBIA 

ODE  TO  JAMESTOWN     . 

OH  MOTHER  OF  A  MIGHTY  RACE 

OLD  COVE,  THE  . 

OLD  IRONSIDES     .... 
ON  THE  BRITISH  INVASION  . 
ON  THE  CAPTURE  OF  THE  GUER- 
RIERE     ..... 
OUR  COUNTRY     .... 
OUR  COUNTRY     .... 
OUR  FIRST  CENTURY  . 
OUR  LAND  ..... 
OUR  MARTYR-CHIEF    . 

PANAMA      .         .         . 

PAUL  JONES 

PAUL  REVERE' s  RIDE  . 

PEOPLE'S  MAN,  THE  . 

PERRY'S  VICTORY 

PERSHING,  To  GENERAL 

PILGRIM  FATHERS,  THE 

POCAHONTAS         .... 

POLAR  QUEST,  THE    . 

PRESENT  CRISIS,  THE  . 

PUT  IT  THROUGH 


John  Jerome  Rooney   .  311 

Grenville    Me  lien          .  56 

Catherine  M.   Warfield  169 

Henry   Clay    Work      .  210 

James  A.  Delke  .         .  51 

John  J.  Rooney   .         .  278 

James  Jeffrey   Roche  .  122 

Richard  H.  Stoddard  .  163 

George  E.   Woodberry  307 

Kate  B.   Sherwood      .  78 

Wm.  Day    ...  89 

John  R.   Thompson      .  197 

James  Ryder  Randall  .  166 

Francis  Miles  Finch    .  66 

William  H.   Venable   .  295 

Katharine  Lee  Bates  .  305 

F.   L.  Hosmer     .         .  20 

Walt    Whitman    .         .  226 
H.     Vajansky;     Trans. 

of  E.  G.  Balch         .  333 
James  K.  Paulding     . 

William  C.  Bryant       .  32 
Henry  Howard 

Brownell  .         .159 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  102 
Philip   Freneau    .         .111 

Philip   Freneau    .         .  100 

W.  T.  Parbodie  .         .  18 

Julia   Ward  Howe       .  27 

George   E.    Woodberry  246 

Florence  E.  Coates     .  338 

James   Russell   Lowell  227 

James  J.  Roche   .         .  288 

Anonymous           .         .  73 

H.   W.  Longfellow      .  44 

Richard   H.    Stoddard.  155 

Anonymous          .         .  107 

Amelia  Josephine  Burr  313 

John  Pierpont      .          .  25 

Wm.  M.    Thackeray    .  11 

Richard  Burton   .    '     .  294 

James  Russell  Lozvell.  133 

Edward  Everett  Hale.  208 


INDEX    OF 

QUENTIN   ROOSEVELT   . 

RAINDROPS    ON    YOUR    OLD    TIN 

HAT 

RED  CROSS  SPIRIT  SPEAKS,  THE 
RISING,  THE  .... 
ROAD  TO  FRANCE,  THE 
ROBERT  E.  LEE  .... 
ROOSEVELT  ..... 
RUSH  OF  THE  OREGON,  THE 

SELF-COMMUNINGS  OF  A   HERO   . 
SETTLER,   THE     .... 
SHERIDAN'S  RIDE 
SOLDIER,  A  . 

SONG  FOR  OUR  FIGHTING  MEN   . 
SONG  FOR  OUR  FLAG,  A 
SONG  OF  TEXAS  .... 
STAR-SPANGLED   BANNER,   THE    . 
STATUE     OF     SHERMAN     BY     ST. 
GAUDENS       .... 
STONEWALL  JACKSON'S  WAY 
SUMTER        ..... 

SURRENDER  AT  APPOMATTOX,  THE 
SWORD-BEARER,  THE  . 

THE  DAY    ..... 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT  . 

THOSE  REBEL  FLAGS   . 

THREE  HUNDRED  THOUSAND  MORE 

To  ARMS  !   . 

To  JOHN  C.   FREMONT 

TRAMP,   TRAMP,   TRAMP 

TRUXTON'S  VICTORY    . 

UNION,  THE  .... 
UNMANIFEST  DESTINY 

VALLEY  FORGE  .... 
VETERANS,  THE  .... 
VOLUNTEERS,  THE 

WARREN'S    ADDRESS    AT   BUNKER 
HILL     ..... 
WASHINGTON       .... 
WASHINGTON       .... 
WASHINGTON,  THE   CAPITAL 
WHAT  CONSTITUTES  A  STATE 
WHEELER  AT  SANTIAGO 


TITLES 

Leon  Huhner 


XV11 

316 


/.  Hunter  Wicker  sham  317 

John  H.  Finley   .         .  324 

Thomas  B.  Read          .  53 

Daniel  M.  Henderson.  303 

Julia  Ward  Howe       .  233 

Roger  Sterrett    .         .  327 

Arthur    Guiterman        .  276 

/.   R.   Lowell       .         .  1 

Alfred  B.  Street  .         .  23 

Thomas  B.  Read          .  215 

Florence   Earle^   Coates  310 

Marguerite   Wilkinson .  308 

M.  E.  Sangster  .         .  70 

Wm.  H.  C.  Hosmer  .  136 

Francis   Scott   Key      .  109 

Henry  Van  Dyke         .  238 

John  W.  Palmer          .  185 
Edmund  Clarence  Sted- 

man           .         .         .  161 

Herman  Melville           .  223 

George  H.  Boker        .  177 

Witter   Bynner    .         .  329 

Leon  Huhner       .         .  328 

John  H.  Jewett  .         .  292 

James  Sloan  Gibbons  .  171 
Park  Benjamin   .         .137 

/.  G.   Whittier    .         .  175 

Anonymous           .         .  193 

Anonymous          .         .  92 

H.   W.  Longfellow       .  154 

Richard  Hovey    .         .  342 

Thomas  B.  Read          .  76 

Will  Tasker         .         .  330 

William    Names    Lytle  144 


J.  Pierpont           .         .  55 

James  Russell  Lowell.  57 

James  Jeffrey  Roche   .  87 

Aloysius   Coll       .         .  340 

Sir   William  Jones       .  86 

James  L.  Gordon         .  271 


XV111 


INDEX    OF    TITLES 


WHEN  JOHNNY  COMES  MARCH- 
ING HOME  .... 

WHEN  THE  GREAT  GRAY  SHIPS 
COME  IN  .... 

WILD  WEATHER  .... 

WOOD  CALLED  ROUGE-BOUQUET, 
THE  ..... 

WORD  OF  GOD  TO  LEYDEN  CAME, 
THE  ..... 

YANKEE  DOODLE  .... 
YANKEES,  THE    .... 
YEAR  OF  JUBILEE,  THE 
You  TALK  OF  THIS  AND  THAT  . 


Patrick  S.   Gilmore  .  212 

Guy  W.  Carryl   .  .  280 

Katharine  L.  Bates  .  297 

Joyce   Kilmer      .  .  320 

/.  E.  Rankin       .  .  13 

Anonymous          .  .  59 

Fitz-Greene   Halleck  .  74 

Henry  Clay  Work  .  221 

Harry  Kemp        .  .  335 


I 

THE    NEW    CONTINENT 


SELF-COMMUNINGS    OF    A    HERO 
FROM  "COLUMBUS" 

The  cordage  creaks  and  rattles  in  the  wind, 

With  whims  of  sudden  hush ;  the  reeling  sea 

Now  thumps  like  solid  rock  beneath  the  stern, 

Now  leaps  with  clumsy  wrath,  strikes  short,  and,  falling, 

Crumbled  to  whispery  foam,  slips  rustling  down 

The  broad  backs  of  the  waves,  which  jostle  and  crowd 

To  fling  themselves  upon  that  unknown  shore. 

Ah  me !  old  hermits  sought  for  solitude 
In  caves  and  desert  places  of  the  earth, 
Where  their  own  heart-beat  was  the  only  stir 
Of  living  thing  that  comforted  the  year. 

•  •••••••• 

Yet  to  the  spirit  select  there  is  no  choice; 
He  cannot  say,  This  will  I  do,  or  that. 

A  hand  is  stretched  to  him  from  out  the  dark, 
Which  grasping  without  question,  he  is  led 
Where  there  is  work  that  he  must  do  for  God. 

•  •••••••• 

Endurance  is  the  crowning  quality, 
And  patience  all  the  passion  of  great  hearts ; 
These  are  their  stay,  and  when  the  leaden  world 
Sets  its  hard  face  against  their  fateful  thought, 
And  brute  strength,  like  the  Gaulish  conqueror, 


2"  THE-  NEW    CONTINENT 

Clangs  hvs  hug^'  glaive  do'wn  in  the  other  scale, 
The  'inspired  soul  .but  flings  his  patience  in, 
And  slowly  that  outweighs  the  ponderous  globe, — 
One  faith  against  a  whole  earth's  unbelief, 
One  soul  against  the  flesh  of  all  mankind. 
Thus  ever  seems  it  when  my  soul  can  hear 
The  voice  that  errs  not ;  then  my  triumph  gleams 
O'er  the  blank  ocean  beckoning,  and  all  night 
My  heart  flies  on  before  me  as  I  sail. 

•  •••••••• 

One  day  more 

These  muttering  shoalbrains  leave  the  helm  to  me; 
God,  let  me  not  in  their  dull  ooze  be  stranded. 

•  •••••••• 

One  poor  day ! — 

Remember  whose  and  not  how  short  it  is ! 
It  is  God's  day,  it  is  Columbus's. 
A  lavish  day !    One  day,  with  life  and  heart, 
Is  more  than  long  enough  to  find  a  world. 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifft'in  Company,  the  authorized  publishers. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT 


LAND  HO! 
FROM  "COLUMBIA'S  BANNER" 

"God  helping  me,"  cried  Columbus,  "though  fair  or  foul 

the  breeze, 
I  will  sail  and  sail  till  I  find  the  land  beyond  the  western 

seas !" 
So  an  eagle  might  leave  its  eyrie,  bent,  though  the  blue 

should  bar, 
To  fold  its  wings  on  the  loftiest  peak  of  an  undiscovered 

star ! 
And  into  the  vast  and  void  abyss  he  followed  the  setting 

sun; 

But  oh,  the  weary  vigils,  the  murmuring,  torturing  days, 
Till  the  Pinta's  gun  and  the  shout  of  "Land!"  set  the 

black  night  ablaze ! 
Till  the  shore  lay  fair  as  paradise  in  morning's  balm  and 

gold,  . 
And  a  world  was  won  from  the  conquered  deep,  and  the 

tale  of  the  ages  told ! 

EDNA  DEAN  PROCTOR. 

By  courtesy  of  the  Author;  also  by  permission  of,  and  by  spe- 
cial arrangement  with,  Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized 
Publishers. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT 


AMERICA  THE  BEAUTIFUL 

O  beautiful   for  spacious  skies, 

For  amber  waves  of  grain, 
For  purple  mountain  majesties 
Above  the  fruited  plain ! 

America !     America ! 
God  shed  His  grace  on  thee 
And  crown  thy  good  with  brotherhood 
From  sea  to  shining  sea ! 

O  beautiful  for  pilgrim  feet, 

Whose  stern,  impassioned  stress 
A  thoroughfare  for  freedom  beat 

Across  the  wilderness ! 
America !     America ! 

God  mend  thine  every  flaw, 
Confirm  thy  soul  in  self-control, 

Thy  liberty  in  law  ! 

O  beautiful  for  heroes  proved 

In  liberating  strife, 
Who  more  than  self  their  country  loved, 

And  mercy  more  than  life ! 
America !     America ! 

May  God  thy  gold  refine 
Till  all  success  be  nobleness 

And  every  gain  divine ! 

O  beautiful  for  patriot  dream 

That  sees  beyond  the  years 
Thine  alabaster  cities  gleam 

Undimmed  by  human  tears ! 
America !     America ! 

God  shed  His  grace  on  thee 
And  crown  thy  good  with  brotherhood 

From  sea  to  shining  sea ! 

KATHERINE  LEE  BATES. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  Author,  and  of  the  Publishers,  the 
Thomas  Y.  Crowell  Company. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT 


THE  FIRST  AMERICAN  SAILORS 

Five  fearless  knights  of  the  first  renown 

In  Elizabeths  great  array, 

From  Plymouth  in  Devon  sailed  up  and  down- 
American  sailors  they ; 
Who  went  to  the  West, 
For  they  all  knew  best 

Where  the  silver  was  gray 
As  a  moonlight  night, 
And  the  gold  as  bright 
As  a  midsummer  day — 

A-sailing  away 
Through  the  salt  sea  spray, 
The  first  American  sailors. 

Sir  HUMPHREY  GILBERT/  he  was  ONE 

And  Devon  was  heaven  to  him, 
He  loved  the  sea  as  he  loved  the  sun 

And  hated  the  Don  as  the  Devil's  limb — 

Hated  him  up  to  the  brim! 
In  Holland  the  Spanish  hide  he  tanned, 
He  roughed  and  routed  their  braggart  band, 
And  God  was  with  him  on  sea  and  land ; 

Newfoundland  knew  him,  and  all  that  coast 

For  he  was  one  of  America's  host — 
And  now  there  is  nothing  but  English  speech 
For  leagues  and  leagues,  and  reach  on  reach, 

From  near  the  Equator  away  to  the  Pole; 

While  the  billows  beat  and  the  oceans  roll 
On  the  three  Americas. 

Sir  FRANCIS  DRAKE/  and  he  was  TWO 

And  Devon  was  heaven  to  him, 
He  loved  in  his  heart  the  waters  blue 

And  hated  the  Don  as  the  Devil's  limb — 
Hated  him  up  to  the  brim! 

11539?-1583;    2  1540P-1596. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT 

At  Cadiz  he  singed  the  King's  black  beard, 
The  Armada  met  him  and  fled  afeard, 
Great  Philip's  golden  fleece  he  sheared ; 

Oregon  knew  him,  and  all  that  coast, 

For  he  was  one  of  America's  host — 
And  now  there  is  nothing  but  English  speech 
For  leagues  and  leagues,  and  reach  on  reach, 

From  California  away  to  the  Pole ; 

While  the  billows  beat  and  the  oceans  roll 
On  the  three  Americas. 

Sir  WALTER  RALEIGH, 3  he  was  THREE 

And  Devon  was  heaven  to  him, 
There  was  nothing  he  loved  so  well  as  the  sea — 

He  hated  the  Don  as  the  Devil's  limb — 

Hated  him,  up  to  the  brim! 
He  settled  full  many  a  Spanish  score, 
Full  many's  the  banner  his  bullets  tore 
On  English,  American,  Spanish  shore ; 

Guiana  knew  him,  and  all  that  coast, 

For  he  was  one  of  America's  host — 
And  now  there  is  nothing  but  English  speech 
For  leagues  and  leagues,  and  reach  on  reach, 

From  Guiana  northward  to  the  Pole ; 

While  the  billows  beat  and  the  oceans  roll 
On  the  three  Americas. 

Sir  RICHARD  GRENViLLE,4  he  was  FOUR 

And  Devon  was  heaven  to  him, 
He  loved  the  waves  and  their  windy  roar 

And  hated  the  Don  as  the  Devil's  limb — 

Hated  him  up  to  the  brim! 

He  whipped  him  on  land  and  mocked  him  at  sea.. 
He  laughed  to  scorn  his  sovereignty, 
And  with  the   Revenge  beat  his  fifty-three ; 

Virginia  knew  him,  and  all  that  coast, 

For  he  was  one  of  America's  host — 
And  now  there  is  nothing  but  English  speech 
For  leagues  and  leagues,  and  reach  on  reach, 

31552-1618;    4 1541-1591. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT 

From  the  Old  Dominion  away  to  the  Pole; 
While  the  billows  beat  and  the  oceans  roll 
On  the  three  Americas. 

And  Sir  JOHN  HAWKINS,S  he  was  FIVE 

And  Devon  was  heaven  to  him, 
He  worshiped  the  water  while  he  was  alive 

And  hated  the  Don  as  the  Devil's  limb — 

Hated  him  up  to  the  brim! 
He  chased  him  over  the  Spanish  Main, 
He  scoffed  and  defied  the  navies  of  Spain — 
His  cities  he  ravished  again  and  again ; 

The  Gulf  it  knew  him,  and  all  that  coast, 

For  he  was  one  of  America's  host — 
And  now  there  is  nothing  but  English  speech 
For  leagues  and  leagues,  and  reach  on  reach, 

From  the  Rio  Grande  away  to  the  Pole ; 

While  the  billows  beat  and  the  oceans  roll 
On  the  three  Americas. 

Five  fearless  knights  have  filled  gallant  graves 

This  many  and  many  a  day, 

Some  under  the  willows,  some  under  the  waves — 
American  sailors  they; 
And  still  in  the  West 
Is  their  valor  blest, 
Where  a  banner  bright 
With  the  ocean's  blue 
And  the  red  wrack's  hue 
And  the  spoondrift's  white 

Is  smiling  to-day 
Through  the  salt  sea  spray 
Upon  American  sailors. 

WALLACE  RICE, 

With  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 
5  1532-1595. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT 


ODE  TO  JAMESTOWN 

[Settled,  under  Captain  John  Smith,  May,  1607;  burned  by  Na- 
thaniel Bacon,  rebelling  against  Governor  Berkeley,  Sept.  19,  1676, 
ruining  the  first  successful  English  settlement  in  Virginia.} 

Old  cradle  of  an  infant  world, 
In  which  a  nestling  empire  lay, 
Struggling  awhile,  ere  she  unfurled 

Her  gallant  wing  and  soared  away ; 
All  hail !  thou  birthplace  of  the  glowing  west, 
Thou  seem'st  the  towering  eagle's  ruined  nest! 

What  solemn  recollections  throng, 

What  touching  visions  rise, 
As,  wandering  these  old  stones  among, 

I  backward  turn  mine  eyes, 
And  see  the  shadows  of  the  dead  flit  round, 
Like  spirits,  when  the  last  dread  trump  shall  sound. 

The  wonders  of  an  age  combined 

In  one  short  moment  memory  supplies ; 
They  throng  upon  my  wakened  mind, 

As  time's  dark  curtains  rise. 
The  volume  of  a  hundred  buried  years, 
Condensed  in  one  bright  sheet,  appears. 

I  hear  the  angry  ocean  rave, 
I  see  the  lonely  little  bark 
Scudding  along  the  crested  wave, 
Freighted  like  old  Noah's  ark, 
As  o'er  the  drowned  earth  't  was  hurled, 
With  the  forefathers  of  another  world. 

I  see  the  train  of  exiles  stand, 

Amid  the  desert,  desolate, 
The  fathers  of  my  native  land, 
The  daring  pioneers  of  fate, 
Who  braved  the  perils  of  the  sea  and  earth, 
And  gave  a  boundless  empire  birth. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT 

I  see  the  sovereign  Indian  range 

His  woodland  empire,  free  as  air; 
I  see  the  gloomy  forest  change, 

The  shadowy  earth  laid  bare ; 

And  where  the  red  man  chased  the  bounding  deer. 
The  smiling  labors  of  the  white  appear. 

• 
The  forest  reels  beneath  the  stroke 

Of  sturdy  woodman's  axe ; 
The  earth  receives  the  white  man's  yoke, 

And  pays  her  willing  tax 

Of   fruits,   and  flowers,   and  golden  harvest  fields, 
And  all  that  nature  to  blithe  labor  yields. 

Then  growing  hamlets  rear  their  heads, 

And  gathering  crowds  expand, 
Far  as  my  fancy's  vision  spreads, 

O'er  many  a  boundless  land, 
Till  what  was  once  a  world  of  savage  strife 
Teems  with  the  richest  gifts  of  social  life. 

Empire  to  empire  swift  succeeds, 

Each  happy,  great,  and  free ; 
One  empire  still  another  breeds, 

A  giant  progeny, 
Destined  their  daring  race  to  run, 
Each  to  the  regions  of  yon  setting  sun. 

Then,  as  I  turn  my  thoughts  to  trace 

The  fount  whence  these  rich  waters  sprung. 
I  glance  towards  this  lonely  place, 

And  find  it  these  rude  stones  among. 
Here  rest  the  sires  of  millions,  sleeping  round, 
The  Argonauts,  the  golden  fleece  that  found. 

No  one  that  inspiration  drinks, 

No  one  that  loves  his  native  land, 
No  one  that  reasons,  feels,  or  thinks, 

Can  mid  these  lonely  ruins  stand 


io  THE    NEW    CONTINENT 

Without  a  moistened  eye,  a  grateful  tear 

Of  reverent  gratitude  to  those  that  moulder  here. 

Jamestown,  and  Plymouth's  hallowed  rock 

To  me  shall  ever  sacred  be, — 
I  care  not  who  my  themes  may  mock, 

Or  sneer  at  them  and  me. 
I  envy  not  the  brute  who  here  can  stand 
Without  a  thrill  for  his  own  native  land. 

And  if  the  recreant  crawl  her  earth, 

Or  breathe  Virginia's  air, 
Or  in  New  England  claim  his  birth, 

From  the  old  pilgrims  there, 
He  is  a  bastard  if  he  dare  to  mock 
Old  Jamestown's  shrine  or  Plymouth's  famous  rock. 

JAMES  KIRKE  PAULDING. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT  n 


POCAHONTAS 

[On  one  of  Captain  John  Smith's  foraging  expeditions  near  his 
settlement  of  Jamestoivn,  Va.  (December,  1608),  he  was  captured 
by  Indians.  They  were  about  to  slay  him,  but  Pocahontas,  daugh- 
ter of  Powhatan,  their  chief,  threw  herself  between  him  and  his 
executioners*,  saving  his  life.} 

Wearied  arm  and  broken  sword 
Wage  in  vain  the  desperate  fight; 

Round  him  press  a  countless  horde, 
He  is  but  a  single  knight. 

Hark !  a  cry  of  triumph  shrill 

Through  the  wilderness  resounds, 
As,  with  twenty  bleeding  wounds, 

Sinks  the  warrior,  fighting  still. 

Now  they  heap  the  funeral  pyre, 

And  the  torch  of  death  they  light; 
Ah !  'tis  hard  to  die  by  fire ! 

Who  will  shield  the  captive  knight? 
Round  the  stake  with  fiendish  cry 

Wheel  and  dance  the  savage  crowd ; 

Cold  the  victim's  mien  and  proud, 
And  his  breast  is  bared  to  die. 

Who  will  shield  the  fearless  heart? 

Who  avert  the  murderous  blade  ? 
From  the  throng  with  sudden  start, 

See,  there  springs  an  Indian  maid. 
Quick  she  stands  before  the  knight: 

"Loose  the  chain,  unbind  the  ring! 

I  am  daughter  of  the  king, 
And  I  claim  the  Indian  right!" 


12  THE    NEW    CONTINENT 

Dauntlessly  aside  she  flings 

Lifted  axe  and  thirsty  knife; 
Fondly  to  his  heart  she  clings, 

And  her  bosom  guards  his  life! 
In  the  woods  of  Powhatan, 

Still  'tis  told  by  Indian  fires, 

How  a  daughter  of  their  sires 
Saved  a  captive  Englishman. 

WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT  13 


THE  WORD  OF  GOD  TO  LEYDEN  CAME 

[A  little  company  of  Separatists  from  the  State-governed 
Church  of  England,  persecuted  to  exile,  left  their  homes  in  the 
town  of  Scrooby  and  took  refuge  in  Holland — first  in  Amster- 
dam, later  (1609)  in  Ley  den.  But,  seeking  a  wider  freedom  for 
life  and  religion,  by  arrangement  with  the  Plymouth  Branch  of  the 
Virginia  Company,  they  sailed,  101  in  number,  on  the  "Mayflower," 
and  after  many  weeks  at  sea  landed  at  New  Plymouth  on  Cape 
Cod,  December  21,  1620—  the  "Pilgrim  Fathers.''} 

The  word  of  God  to  Ley  den  came, 

Dutch  town  by  Zuyder  Zee: 
Rise  up,  my  children  of  no  name, 

My  kings  and  priests  to  be. 
There  is  an  empire  in  the  West, 

Which  I  will  soon  unfold ; 
A  thousand  harvests  in  her  breast, 

Rocks  ribbed  with  iron  and  gold. 

Rise  up,  my  children,  time  is  ripe ! 

Old  things  are  passed  away. 
Bishops  and  kings  from  earth  I  wipe ; 

Too  long  they've  had  their  day. 
A  little  ship  have  I  prepared 

To  bear  you  o'er  the  seas ; 
And  in  your  souls  my  will  declared 

Shall  grow  by  slow  degrees. 

Beneath  my  throne  the  martyrs  cry ; 

I  hear  their  voice,  How  long? 
It  mingles  with  their  praises  high, 

And  with  their  victor  song. 
The  thing  they  longed  and  waited  for, 

But  died  without  the  sight  ; 
So,  this  shall  be !  I  wrong  abhor, 

The  world  I'll  now  set  right. 


i4  THE    NEW    CONTINENT 

Leave,  then,  the  hammer  and  the  loom, 

You've  other  work  to  do ; 
For  Freedom's  commonwealth  there's  room, 

And  you  shall  build  it  too. 
I'm  tired  of  bishops  and  their  pride, 

I'm  tired  of  kings  as  well ; 
Henceforth  I  take  the  people's  side, 

And  with  the  people  dwell. 

Tear  off  the  miter  from  the  priest, 

And  from  the  king,  his  crown ; 
Let  all  my  captives  be  released; 

Lift  up,  whom  men  cast  down. 
Their  pastors  let  the  people  choose, 

And  choose  their  rulers  too; 
Whom  they  select,  I'll  not  refuse, 

But  bless  the  work  they  do. 

The  pilgrims  rose,  at  this,  God's  word, 

And  sailed  the  wintry  seas : 
With  their  own  flesh  nor  blood  conferred, 

Nor  thought  of  wealth  or  ease. 
They  left  the  towers  of  Leyden  town, 

They  left  the  Zuyder  Zee ; 
And  where  they  cast  their  anchor  down, 

Rose  Freedom's  realm  to  be. 

JEREMIAH  EAMES  RANKIN. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT 


THE  LANDING  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 

The  breaking  waves  dashed  high 

On  the  stern  and  rock-bound  coast, 
And  the  woods,  against  a  stormy  sky, 

Their  giant  branches  tossed; 

And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark 

The  hills  and  waters  o'er, 
When  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 

On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

They,  the  true-hearted,  came : 
Not  with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums, 

And  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame ; 

Not  as  the  flying  come, 

In  silence  and  in  fear, — 
They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert's  gloom 

With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer, 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang, 

And  the  stars  heard,  and  the  sea ; 
And  the  sounding  isles  of  the  dim  woods  rang 

To  the  anthem  of  the  free ! 

The  ocean-eagle  soared 

From  his  nest  by  the  white  wave's  foam, 
And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared : 

This  was  their  welcome  home ! 

There  were  men  with  hoary  hair 

Amidst  that  pilgrim  band ; 
Why  have  they  come  to  wither  here, 

Away  from  their  childhood's  land? 


1 6  THE    NEW    CONTINENT 

There  was  woman's  fearless  eye, 

Lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth ; 
There  was  manhood's  brow,  serenely  high, 

And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 

What  sought  they  thus  afar? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine? 
The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war? — 

They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine ! 

Aye,  call  it  holy  ground, 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod ! 
They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they  found — 

Freedom  to  worship  God ! 

FELICIA  HEMANS. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT  17 


COLUMBUS  AND  THE  MAYFLOWER 

O  little  fleet !  that  on  thy  quest  divine 

Sailedst  from  Palos  one  bright  autumn  morn, 

Say,  has  old  Ocean's  bosom  ever  borne 

A  freight  of  faith  and  hope  to  match  with  thine? 

Say,  too,  has  Heaven's  high  favor  given  again 

Such  consummation  of  desire  as  shone 

About  Columbus  when  he  rested  on 

The  new-found  world  and  married  it  to   Spain? 

Answer, — thou  refuge  of  the  freeman's  need, — 
Thou  for  whose  destinies  no  kings  looked  out, 
Nor  sages  to  resolve  some  mighty  doubt, — 
Thou  simple  Mayflower  of  the  salt-sea  mead ! 

When  thou  wert  wafted  to  that  distant  shore, 
Gay  flowers,  bright  birds,  rich  odors  met  thee  not ; 
Stern  Nature  hailed  thee  to  a  sterner  lot, — 
God  gave  free  earth  and  air,  and  gave  no  more. 

Thus  to  men  cast  in  that  heroic  mould 
Came  empire  such  as  Spaniard  never  knew, 
Such  empire  as  beseems  the  just  and  true; 
And  at  the  last,  almost  unsought,  came  gold. 

But  He  who  rules  both  calm  and  stormy  days, 
Can  guard  that  people's  heart,  that  nation's  health. 
Safe  on  the  perilous  heights  of  power  and  wealth, 
As  in  the  straitness  of  the  ancient  ways. 

RICHARD  MONCKTON  MILNES  /XORD  HOUGHTON). 


1 8  THE    NEW    CONTINENT 

OUR    COUNTRY 

Our  country,  'tis  a  glorious  land, 

With  broad  arms  stretched  from  shore  to  shore: 
The  proud  Pacific  chafes  her  strand, 

She  hears  the  dark  Atlantic's  roar ; 
And,  nurtured  on  her  ample  breast, 

How  many  a  goodly  prospect  lies 
In  Nature's  wildest  grandeur  drest, 

Enameled  with  her  loveliest  dyes ! 

Rich  prairies,  decked  with  flowers  of  gold, 

Like  sunlit  oceans  roll  afar; 
Broad  lakes  her  azure  heavens  behold, 

Reflecting  clear  each  trembling  star ; 
And  mighty  rivers,  mountain-born, 

Go  sweeping  onward,  dark  and  deep, 
Through  forests  where  the  bounding  fawn 

Beneath  their  sheltered  waters  leap. 

And,  cradled  'mid  her  clustering  hills, 

Sweet  vales  in  dream-like  beauty  hide, 
Where  love  the  air  with  music  fills,  * 

And  calm  content  and  peace  abide ;  , 

For  Plenty  here  her  fullness  pours 

In  rich  profusion  through  the  land, 
And,  sent  to  seize  her  generous  stores, 

There  prowls  no  tyrant's  hireling  band. 

Great  God,  we  thank  thee  'for  this  home, 

This  bounteous  birthland  of  the  free, 
Where  wanderers  from  afar  may  come 

And  breathe  the  air  of  liberty. 
Still  may  her  flowers  untrampled  spring, 

Her  harvests  wave,  her  cities  rise ; 
And  yet,  till  Time  shall  fold  her  wing, 

Remain    Earth's   loveliest    Paradise. 

WILLIAM  JEWETTT  PARBODIE. 

From   Henry  B.   Carrington's   "Beacon   Lights   of   Patriotism," 
Messrs.  Silver,  Burdette  &  Company,  Publishers, 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT  19 


AMERICAN   DESTINY 

"On  the  Prospect  of  Planting  Arts  and  Learning  in  America" 
[1728] 

The  Muse,  disgusted  at  an  age  and  clime 

Barren  of  every  glorious  theme, 
In  distant  lands  now  waits  a  better  time, 

Producing  subjects  worthy  fame. 

In  happy  climes,  where  from  the  genial  sun 

And  virgin  earth  such  scenes  ensue, 
The  force  of  Art  by  Nature  seems  outdone, 

And  fancied  beauties  by  the  true ; 

In  happy  climes,  the  seat  of  innocence, 
Where  Nature  guides  and  Virtue  rules, 

Where  men  shall  not  impose,  for  truth  and  sense, 
The  pedantry  of  courts  and  schools, 

There  shall  be  sung  another  golden  age, — 

The  rise  of  empire  and  the  arts ; 
The  good  and  great  inspiring  epic  rage ; 

The  wisest  heads  and  noblest  hearts; 

Not  such  as  Europe  breeds  in  her  decay : 
Such  as  she  bred  when  fresh  and  young, 

When  heavenly  flame  did  animate  her  clay, 
By  future  poets  shall  be  sung. 

Westward  the  course  of  empire  takes  its  way: 

The  first  four  acts  already  past, 
A  fifth  shall  close  the  drama  with  the  day ; 

Time's  noblest  offspring  is  the  last. 

BISHOP  GEORGE  BERKELEY. 


20  THE    NEW    CONTINENT 


O  BEAUTIFUL,  MY  COUNTRY 

"O  beautiful,  my  country !" 

Be  thine  a  nobler  care, 
Than  all  thy  wealth  of  commerce, 

Thy  harvest  waving  fair ; 
Be  it  thy  pride  to  lift  up 

The  manhood  of  the  poor; 
Be  thou  to  the  oppressed 

Fair  freedom's  open  door. 

For  thee  our  fathers  suffered, 

For  thee  they  toiled  and  prayed; 
Upon  thy  holy  altar 

Their  willing  lives  they  laid. 
Thou  hast  no  common  birthright; 

Grand  memories  on  thee  shine, 
The  blood  of  pilgrim  nations, 

Commingled,  flows  in  thine. 

O  beautiful,  our  country! 

Round  thee  in  love  we  draw; 
Thine  is  the  grace  of  freedom, 

The  majesty  of  law. 
Be  righteousness  thy  scepter, 

Justice  thy  diadem ; 
And  on  thy  shining  forehead 

Be  peace  the  crowning  gem. 

FREDERICK  L.  HOSMER. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT  21 


AMERICA,  OUR  COUNTRY 
FROM  "THE  TORCH-BEARERS" 

For,  O  America,  our  country ! — land 

Hid  in  the  west  through  centuries,  till  men 
Through  countless  tyrannies  could  understand 

The  priceless  worth  of  freedom, — once  again 
The  world  was  new-created  when  thy  shore 

First  knew  the  Pilgrim  keels,  that  one  last  test 
The  race  might  make  of  manhood,  nor  give  o'er 

The  strife  with  evil  till  it  proved  its  best. 
Thy  true  sons  stand  as  torch-bearers,  to  hold 

A  guiding  light.    Here  the  last  stand  is  made. 
If  we  fail  here,  what  new  Columbus  bold, 

Steering  brave  prow  through  black  seas  unafraid, 
Finds  out  a  fresh  land  where  man  may  abide 

And  freedom  yet  be  saved?  The  whole  round  earth 
Has  seen  the  battle  fought.     Where  shall  men  hide 

From  tyranny  and  wrong,  where  life  have  worth, 
If  here  the  cause  succumb?    If  greed  of  gold 
Or  lust  of  power  or  falsehood  triumph  here, 
The  race  is  lost!    A  globe  dispeopled,  cold, 

Rolled  down  the  void  a  voiceless,  lifeless  sphere, 
Were  not  so  stamped  by  all  which  hope  debars 

As  were  this  earth,  plunging  along  through  space 
Conquered  by  evil,  shamed  among  the  stars, 

Bearing  a  base,  enslaved,  dishonored  race ! 
Here  has  the  battle  its  last  vantage  ground ; 

Here  all  is  won,  or  here  must  all  be  lost ; 
Here  freedom's  trumpets  one  last  rally  sound; 

Here  to  the  breeze  its  blood-stained  flag  is  tossed. 
America,  last  hope  of  man  and  truth, 

Thy  name  must  through  all  coming  ages  be 
The  badge  unspeakable  of  shame  and  ruth, 

Or  glorious  pledge  that  man  through  truth  is  free. 


22  THE    NEW    CONTINENT 

This  is  thy  destiny ;  the  choice  is  thine 

To  lead  all  nations  and  outshine  them  all ; — 

But  if  thou  failest,  deeper  shame  is  thine, 

And  none  shall  spare  to  mock  thee  in  thy  fall. 

ARLO  BATES. 

By  permission  of  Messrs.  Little,  Brown  &  Co. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT  23 

THE    SETTLER 

His  echoing  axe  the  settler  swung 

Amid  the  sea-like  solitude, 
And,  rushing,  thundering,  down  were  flung 

The  Titans  of  the  wood; 
Loud  shrieked  the  eagle,  as  he  dashed 
From  out  his  mossy  nest,  which  crashed 

With  its  supporting  bough, 
And  the  first  sunlight,  leaping,  flashed 

On  the  wolf's  haunt  below. 

Rude  was  the  garb  and  strong  the  frame 

Of  him  who  plied  his  ceaseless  toil : 
To  form  that  garb  the  wildwood  game 

Contributed  their  spoil  ; 
The  soul  that  warmed  that  frame  disdained 
The  tinsel,  gaud,  and  glare  that  reigned 

Where  men  their  crowds  collect  ; 
The  simple  fur,  untrimmed,  unstained, 

This  forest-tamer  decked. 

The  paths  which  wound  mid  gorgeous  trees, 

The  stream  whose  bright  lips  kissed  their  flowers, 
The  winds  that  swelled  their  harmonies 

Through  those  sun-hiding  bowers, 
The  temple  vast,  the  green  arcade, 
The  nestling  vale,  the  grassy  glade, 

Dark  cave,  and  swampy  lair; 
These  scenes  and  sounds  majestic  made 

His  world,  his  pleasures,  there. 

His  roof  adorned  a  pleasant  spot ; 

Mid  the  black  logs  green  glowed  the  grain, 
And  herbs  and  plants  the  woods  knew  not 

Throve  in  the  sun  and  rain. 
The  smoke-wreath  curling  o'er  the  dell, 
The  low,  the  bleat,  the  tinkling  bell, 

All  made  a  landscape  strange, 
Which  was  the  living  chronicle 

Of  deeds  that  wrought  the  change. 


24  THE    NEW    CONTINENT 

The  violet  sprung  at  spring's  first  tinge, 

The  rose  of  summer  spread  its  glow, 
The  maize  hung  out  its  autumn  fringe, 

Rude  winter  brought  his  snow ; 
And  still  the  lone  one  labored  there, 
His  shout  and  whistle  broke  the  air, 

As  cheerily  he  plied 
His  garden-spade,  or  drove  his  share 

Along  the  hillock's  side. 

He  marked  the  fire-storm's  blazing  flood 

Roaring  and  crackling  on  its  path, 
And  scorching  earth,  and  melting  wood, 

Beneath  its  greedy  wrath ; 
He  marked  the  rapid  whirlwind  shoot, 
Trampling  the  pine-tree  with  its  foot, 

And  darkening  thick  the  day 
With  streaming  bough  and  severed  root, 

Hurled  whizzing  on  its  way. 

His  gaunt  hound  yelled,  his  rifle  flashed, 

The  grim  bear  hushed  his  savage  growl ; 
In  blood  and  foam  the  panther  gnashed 

His  fangs,  with  dying  howl ; 
The  fleet  deer  ceased  its  flying4  bound, 
Its  snarling  wolf-foe  bit  the  ground, 

And,  with  a  moaning  cry, 
The  beaver  sunk  beneath  the  wound 

Its  pond-built  Venice  by. 

Humble  the  lot,  yet  his  the  race, 

When  Liberty  sent  forth  her  cry, 
Who  thronged  in  conflict's  deadliest  place, 

To  fight,— to  bleed,— to  die ! 
Who  cumbered  Bunker's  height  of  red, 
By  hope  through  weary  years  were  led, 

And  witnessed  Yorktown's  sun 
Blaze  on  a  nation's  banner  spread, 

A  nation's  freedom  won. 

ALFRED  BILLINGS  STREET. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT  25 


THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers, — where  are  they? 

The  waves  that  brought  them  o'er 
Still  roll  in  the  bay,  and  throw  their  spray 

As  they  break  along  the  shore ; 
Still  roll  in  the  bay,  as  they  rolled  that  day 

When  the  Mayflower  moored  below ; 
When  the  sea  around  was  black  with  storms, 

And  white  the  shore  with  snow. 

The  mists  that  wrapped  the  Pilgrim's  sleep 

Still  brood  upon  the  tide ; 
And  his  rocks  yet  keep  their  watch  by  the  deep 

To  stay  its  waves  of  pride. 
But  the  snow-white  sail  that  he  gave  to  the  gale, 

When  the  heavens  looked  dark,  is  gone, — 
As  an  angel's  wing  through  an  opening  cloud 

Is  seen,  and  then  withdrawn. 

The  pilgrim  exile, — sainted  name ! 

The  hill  whose  icy  brow 
Rejoiced,  when  he  came,  in  the  morning's  flame, 

In  the  morning's  flame  burns  now. 
And  the  moon's  cold  light,  as  it  lay  that  night 

On  the  hillside  and  the  sea, 
Still  lies  where  he  laid  his  houseless  head, — 

But  the  Pilgrim!  where  is  he? 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers  are  at  rest : 

When  summer's  throned  on  high, 
And  the  world's  warm  breast  is  in  verdure  drest, 

Go,  stand  on  the  hill  where  they  lie. 
The  earliest  ray  of  the  golden  day 

On  that  hallowed  spot  is  cast ; 
And  the  evening  sun,  as  he  leaves  the  world, 

Looks  kindly  on  that  spot  last. 


26  THE    NEW    CONTINENT 

The  Pilgrim  spirit  has  not  fled : 

It  walks  in  noon's  broad  light ; 
And  it  watches  the  bed  of  the  glorious  dead, 

With  the  holy  stars  by  night. 
It  watches  the  bed  of  the  brave  who  have  bled, 

And  still  guard  this  ice-bound  shore, 
Till  the  waves  of  the  bay,  where  the  Mayflower  lay, 

Shall  foam  and  freeze  no  more. 

JOHN  PIERPONT. 


THE '  NEW    CONTINENT  27 


OUR  COUNTRY 

On  primal  rocks  she  wrote  her  name, 
Her  towers  were  reared  on  holy  graves; 

The  golden  seed  that  bore  her  came 

Swift-winged  with  prayer  o'er  ocean  waves. 

The  Forest  bowed  his  solemn  crest, 

And  open  flung  his  sylvan  doors ; 
Meek  Rivers  led  the  appointed  Guest 

To  clasp  the  wide-embracing  shores; 

Till,  fold  by  fold,  the  broidered  land 
To  swell  her  virgin  vestments  grew, 

While  sages,  strong  in  heart  and  hand, 
Her  virtue's  fiery  girdle  drew. 

O  Exile  of  the  wrath  of  Kings ! 

O  Pilgrim  Ark  of  Liberty! 
The  refuge  of  divinest  things, 

Their  record  must  abide  in  thee. 

First  in  the  glories  of  thy  front 

Let  the  crown  jewel,  Truth,  be  found; 

Thy  right  hand  fling,  with  generous  wont, 
Love's  happy  chain  to  farthest  bound. 

Let  Justice,  with  the  faultless  scales, 
Hold  fast  the  worship  of  thy  sons ; 

Thy  Commerce  spread  her  shining  sails 
Where  no  dark  tide  of  rapine  runs. 

So  link  thy  ways  to  those  of  God, 
So  follow  firm  the  heavenly  laws, 

That  stars  may  greet  thee,  warrior-browed, 
And  storm-sped  angels  hail  thy  cause. 


28  THE    NEW    CONTINENT 

O  Lord,  the  measure  of  our  prayers, 
Hope  of  the  world,  in  grief  and  wrong! 

Be  thine  the  tribute  of  the  years, 

The  gift  of  Faith,  the  crown  of  Song! 

JULIA  WARD  HOWE. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT  29 


AD  PATRIAM 

To  deities  of  gauds  and  gold, 

Land  of  our  Fathers,  do  not  bow ! 

But  unto  those  beloved  of  old 
Bend  thou  the  brow ! 

Austere  they  were  of  front  and  form; 

Rigid  as  iron  in  their  aim ; 
Yet  in  them  pulsed  a  blood  as  warm 

And  pure  as  flame ; — 

Honor,  whose  foster-child  is  Truth; 

Unselfishness  in  place  and  plan; 
Justice,  with  melting  heart  of  ruth ; 

And  Faith  in  man. 

Give  these  thy  worship :  then  no  fears 
Of  future  foes  need  fright  thy  soul ; 

Triumphant  thou  shalt  mount  the  years 
Toward  thy  high  goal ! 

CLINTON  SCOLLARD. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


30  THE    NEW    CONTINENT 


COLUMBIA'S   EMBLEM 

Blazon  Columbia's  emblem, 

The  bounteous  golden  Corn ! 
Eons  ago,  of  the  great  sun's  glow 

And  the  joy  of  the  earth,  'twas  born. 
From  Superior's  shore  to  Chili, 

From  the  ocean  of  dawn  to  the  west, 
With  its  banners  of  green  and  silken  sheen 

It  sprang  at  the  sun's  behest ; 
And  by  dew  and  shower,  from  its  natal  hour, 

With  honey  and  wine  'twas  fed, 
Till  on  slope  and  plain  the  gods  were  fain 

To  share  the  feast  outspread ; 
For  the  rarest  boon  to  the  land  they  loved 

Was  the  Corn  so  rich  and  fair, 
Nor  star  nor  breeze  o'er  the  farthest  seas 

Could  find  its  like  elsewhere, 

In  their  holiest  temples  the  Incas 

Offered  the  heaven-sent  Maize — 
Grains  wrought  of  gold,  in  a  silver  fold, 

For  the  sun's  enraptured  gaze ; 
And  its  harvest  came  to  the  wandering  tribes 

As  the  gods'  own  gift  and  seal, 
And  Montezuma's  festal  bread 

Was  made  of  its  sacred  meal. 
Narrow  their  cherished  fields ;  but  ours 

Are  broad  as  the  continent's  breast, 
And,  lavish  as  leaves,  the  rustling  sheaves 

Bring  plenty  and  joy  and  rest; 
For  they  strew  the  plains  and  crowd  the  wains 

When  the  reapers  meet  at  morn. 
Till  blithe  cheers  ring  and  west  winds  sing 

A  song  for  the  garnered  Corn. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT  31 

The  rose  may  bloom  for  England, 

The  lily  for  France  unfold ; 
Ireland  may  honor  the  shamrock, 

Scotland  her  thistle  bold; 
But  the  shield  of  the  great  Republic, 

The  glory  of  the  West, 
Shall  bear  a  stalk  of  the  tasseled  Corn — 

The  sun's  supreme  bequest ! 
The  arbutus  and  the  goldenrod 

The  heart  of  the  North  may  cheer, 
And  sunflower,  cactus  and  poppy 

To  Sierra  and  plain  be  dear, 
And  jasmine  and  magnolia 

The  crest  of  the  South  adorn; 
But  the  wide  Republic's  emblem 

Is  the  bounteous,  golden  Corn ! 

EDNA  DEAN  PROCTOR. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
VTifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers,  and  by  courtesy  of 
the  Author. 


32  THE    NEW    CONTINENT 


"OH  MOTHER  OF  A  MIGHTY  RACE" 

Oh  mother  of  a  mighty  race, 
Yet  lovely  in  thy  youthful  grace ! 
The  elder  dames,  thy  haughty  peers, 
Admire  and  hate  thy  blooming  years. 

With  words  of  shame 
And  taunts  of  scorn  they  join  thy  name. 

For  on  thy  cheeks  the  glow  is  spread 
That  tints  thy  morning  hills  with  red ; 
Thy  step — the  wild  deer's  rustling  feet 
Within  thy  woods  are  not  more  fleet ; 

Thy  hopeful  eye 
Is  bright  as  thine  own  sunny  sky. 

Ay,  let  them  rail — those  haughty  ones, 
While  safe  thou  dwellest  with  thy  sons. 
They  do  not  know  how  loved  thou  art, 
How  many  a  fond  and  fearless  heart 

Would  rise  to  throw 
Its  life  between  thee  and  the  foe. 

They  know  not,  in  their  hate  and  pride, 
What  virtues  with  thy  children  bide ; 
How  true,  how  good,  thy  graceful  maids 
Make   bright,    like    flowers,   the   valley-shades; 

What  generous  men 
Spring,  like  thine  oaks,  by  hill  and  glen ; — 

What  cordial  welcomes  greet  the  guest 
By  thy  lone  rivers  of  the  West ; 
How  faith  is  kept,  and  truth  revered, 
And  man  is  loved,  and  God  is  feared, 

In  woodland  homes, 
And  where  the  ocean  border  foams. 


THE    NEW    CONTINENT  33 

There's  freedom  at  thy  gates  and  rest 
For  earth's  down-trodden  and  opprest, 
A  shelter  for  the  hunted  head, 
For  the  starved  laborer  toil  and  bread. 

Power,  at  thy  bounds, 
Stops  and  calls  back  his  baffled  hounds. 

Oh,  fair  young  mother  !  on  thy  brow 
Shall  sit  a  nobler  grace  than  now. 
Deep  in  the  brightness  of  the  skies 
The  thronging  years  in  glory  rise, 

And,  as  they  fleet, 
Drop  strength  and  riches  at  thy  feet. 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 

By  permission  of  Messrs.  D.  Appleton  &  Company. 


II 

REVOLUTION :    INDEPENDENCE 


LIBERTY  TREE 

[Published  in  1775,  expressive  of  the  resentment  throughout  the 
land  at  the  growing  oppression  of  the  Colonies  by  the  British  Gov- 
ernment and  their  civil  and  military  representatives  in  America.] 

In  a  chariot  of  light  from  the  regions  of  day, 

The  Goddess  of  Liberty  came ; 
Ten  thousand  celestials  directed  the  way 

And  hither  conducted  the  dame. 
A  fair  budding  branch  from  the  gardens  above, 

Where  millions  with  millions  agree, 
She  brought  in  her  hand  as  a  pledge  of  her  love, 

And  the  plant  she  named  Liberty  Tree. 

The  celestial  exotic  struck  deep  in  the  ground, 

Like  a  native  it  flourished  and  bore ; 
The  fame  of  its  fruit  drew  the  nations  around, 

To  seek  out  this  peaceable  shore. 
Unmindful  of  names  or  distinction  they  came, 

For  freemen  like  brothers  agree ; 
With   one   spirit   endued,   they   one    friendship   pursued, 

And  their  temple  was  Liberty  Tree. 

Beneath  this  fair  tree,  like  the  patriarchs  of  old, 

Their  bread  in  contentment  they  ate, 
Unvexed  with  the  troubles  of  silver  and  gold, 

The  cares  of  the  grand  and  the  great. 
With  timber  and  tar  they  Old  England  supplied, 

And  supported  her  power  on  the  sea  ; 
Her  battles  they  fought,  without  getting  a  groat, 

For  the  honor  of  Liberty  Tree. 

34 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      35 

But  hear,  O  ye  swains,  't  is  a  tale  most  profane, 

How  all  the  tyrannical  powers, 
Kings,  Commons,  and  Lords,  are  uniting  amain, 

To  cut  down  this  guardian  of  ours ; 
From  the  east  to  the  west  blow  the  trumpet  to  arms, 

Through  the  land  let  the  sound  of  it  flee, 
Let  the  far  and  the  near,  all  unite  with  a  cheer, 

In  defence  of  our  Liberty  Tree. 

THOMAS  PAINE. 


36      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


DEVOTION  TO  COUNTRY 

Hail  to  this  planting  of  Liberty's  tree! 
Hail  to  the  charter  declaring  us  free ! 
Millions  of  voices  are  chanting  its  praises, 

Millions  of  worshipers  bend  at  its  shrine, 
Wherever  the  sun  of  America  blazes, 

Wherever  the  stars  of  our  bright  barrier  shine. 

Sing  to  the  heroes  who  breasted  the  flood, 

That  swelling  roll'd  o'er  them — a  deluge  of  blood ; 

Fearless  they  clung  to  the  ark  of  the  nation 

And  dashed  on  'mid  lightning  and  thunder  and  blast. 
Till  Peace,  like  the  dove,  brought  her  branch  of  Salvation 

And  Liberty's  mart  was  their  refuge  at  last. 

Bright  is  the  beautiful  land  of  our  birth, 

The  home  of  the  homeless  all  over  the  earth ; 

O  then  let  us  ever  with  fondest  devotion 

The  freedom  our  fathers  bequeathed  us  watch  o'er. 
Till  the  Angel  shall  stand  on  the  earth  and  the  ocean 

And  shout  'mid  earth's  ruins  that  Time  is  no  more. 

ALFRED  B.  STREET. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      37 


THE  BOSTON  MASSACRE 

[On  March  8,  1770,  a  dispute  between  a  British  Captain  with 
seven  privates  and  a  crowd  refusing  to  disperse  resulted  in  the 
soldiers  firing — killing  four  and  wounding  seven.~\ 

Unhappy  Boston !  see  thy  sons  deplore 

Thy  hallowed  walks  besmear'd  with  guiltless  gore. 

While  faithless  Preston  and  his  savage  bands, 

With  murderous  rancor  stretch  their  bloody  hands; 

Like  fierce  barbarians  grinning  o'er  their  prey, 

Approve  the  carnage  and  enjoy  the  day. 

If  scalding  drops,  from  rage,  from  anguish  wrung, 

If  speechless  sorrows  lab'ring  for  a  tongue, 

Or  if  a  weeping  world  can  aught  appease 

The  plaintive  ghosts  of  victims  such  as  these ; 

The  patriot's  copious  tears  for  each  are  shed, 

A  glorious  tribute  which  embalms  the  dead. 

But  know,  Fate  summons  to  that  awful  goal,. 

Where  justice  strips  the  murderer  of  his  soul : 

Should  venal  C ts,1  the  scandal  of  the  land, 

Snatch  the  relentless  villain  from  her  hand, 

Keen  execrations  on  this  plate  inscribed 

Shall  reach  a  Judge  Who  never  can  be  bribed. 

PAUL  REVERE. 

1  Courts,  since,  at  the  trial  of  the  soldiers  for  murder,  eight  were 
found  not  guilty,  two  guilty  of  manslaughter. 


38       REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


ALAMANCE 

[On  May  7,  1771,  North  Carolina — whose  people  had  six  years 
earlier  risen  against  the  stamp  duties — literally  showed  fight  at  the 
little  town  of^Alamance,  where  the  rebellious  Americans  ivere  de- 
feated by  British  regulars  with  a  loss  of  two  hundred  dead  and 
wounded.] 

No  stately  column  marks  the  hallowed  place 

Where  silent  sleeps,  un-urned,  their  sacred  dust: 

The  first  free  martyrs  of  a  glorious  race, 

Their  fame  a  people's  wealth,  a  nation's  trust. 

The  rustic  ploughman  at  the  early  morn 

The  yielding  furrow  turns  with  heedless  tread, 

Or  tends  with  frugal  care  the  springing  corn, 

Where  tyrants   conquered  and  where  heroes  bled. 

Above  their  rest  the  golden  harvest  waves, 
The  glorious  stars  stand  sentinels  on  high, 

While,  in  sad  requiem,  near  their  turfless  graves, 
The  winding  river  murmurs,  mourning,  by. 

No  stern  ambition  waved  them  to  the  deed : 
In  Freedom's  cause  they  nobly  dared  to  die. 

The  first  to  conquer,  or  the  first  to  bleed, 

"God   and   their   country's    right"   their  battle-cry. 

But  holier  watchers  here  their  vigils  keep 
Than  storied  urn  or  monumental   stone ; 

For  Law  and  Justice  guard  their  dreamless   sleep, 
And   Plenty  smiles   above   their  bloody   home. 

Immortal    youth    shall    crown   their    deathless    fame ; 

And  as  their  country's  glories  shall  advance, 
Shall  brighter  blaze,  o'er  all  the  earth,  thy  name, 

Thou   first-fought   field    of    Freedom, — Alamance. 

SEYMOUR  W.  WHITING. 

From  Henry  B.  Carrington's  "Beacon  Lights  of  Patriotism/' 
Messrs.  Silver,  Burdett  &  Co.,  Publishers. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      39 

BOSTON 

SICUT   PATRIBUS,    SIT   DEUS    NOBIS 

[Read  at  the  Centennial  Anniversary  of  the  "Boston  Tea-Party" 
'of  December  16,  1773.] 

The  rocky  nook  with  hill-tops  three 
Looked  eastward  from  the  farms, 
And  twice  each  day  the  flowing  sea 
Took  Boston  in  its  arms ; 

The  men  of  yore  were  stout  and  poor, 
And  sailed  for  bread  to  every  shore. 

O  happy  town  beside  the  sea, 

Whose  roads  lead  everywhere  to  all ; 

Than  thine  no  deeper  moat  can  be, 
No  stouter  fence,  no  steeper  wall ! 

Bad  news  from  George  on  the  English  throne: 

"You  are  thriving  well,"  said  he ; 
"Now,  by  these  presents  be  it  known, 
You  shall  pay  us  a  tax  on  tea ; 

JT  is  very  small, — no  load  at  all, — 
Honor  enough  that  we  send  the  call." 

"Not  so,"  said  Boston,  "good  my  lord, 

We  pay  your  governors  here 
Abundant  for  their  bed  and  board, 

Six  thousand  pounds  a  year. 
(Your  highness  knows  our  homely  word) 
Millions  for  self-government, 
But  for  tribute  never  a  cent." 

The  cargo  came!  and  who  could  blame 

If  Indians  seized  the  tea, 
And,  chest  by  chest,  let  down  the  same 
Into  the  laughing  sea? 

For  what  avail  the  plough  or  sail 
Or  land  or  life,  if  freedom  fail? 


40      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 

The  townsmen  braved  the  English  king, 
Found  friendship  in  the  French, 

And  Honor  joined  the  patriot  ring 
Low  on  their  wooden  bench. 

O  bounteous  seas  that  never  fail ! 

O  day  remembered  yet ! 
O  happy  port  that  spied  the  sail 
Which  wafted  Lafayette ! 

Pole-star  of  light  in  Europe's  night, 
That  never  faltered  from  the  right. 

Kings  shook  with  fear,  old  empires  crave 

The  secret  force  to  find 
Which  fired  the  little  State  to  save 

The  rights  of  all  mankind. 

But  right  is  might  through  all  the  world ; 

Province  to  province  faithful  clung, 
Through  good  and  ill  the  war-bolt  hurled, 

Till  Freedom  cheered  and  the  joy-bells  rung. 

The  sea  returning  day  by  day 

Restores  the  world-wide  mart ; 
So  let  each  dweller  on  the  Bay 
Fold  Boston  in  his  heart, 

Till  these  echoes  be  choked  with  snows, 
Or  over  the  town  blue  ocean  flows. 

Let  the  blood  of  her  hundred  thousands 

Throb  in  each  manly  vein; 
And  the  wit  of  all  her  wisest, 
Make  sunshine  in  her  brain. 

For  you  can  teach  the  lightning  speech, 
And  round  the  globe  your  voices  reach. 

And  each  shall  care  for  other, 

And  each  to  each  shall  bend, 
To  the  poor  a  noble  brother, 

To  the  good  an  equal  friend. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      41 

A  blessing  through  the  ages  thus 

Shield  all  thy  roofs  and  towers ! 
God  with  the  fathers,  so  with  us, 

Thou  darling  town  of  ours ! 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement   with,   Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


42       REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


HOW  WE  BECAME  A  NATION 

[The  Boston  Port  Bill  of  April  15,  1774,  aroused  the  indigna- 
tion of  all  the  Colonies,  cementing  the  common  zeal  for  resist- 
ance.] 

When  George  the  King  would  punish  folk 

Who  dared  resist  his  angry  will — 
Resist  him  with  their  hearts  of  oak 
That  neither  King  nor  Council  broke — 

He  told  Lord  North  to  mend  his  quill, 

And  sent  his  Parliament  a  Bill. 

The  Boston  Port  Bill  was  the  thing 

He  flourished  in  his  royal  hand ; 
A  subtle  lash  with  scorpion  sting, 
Across  the  seas  he  made  it  swing, 

And  with  its  cruel  thong  he  planned 

To  quell  the  disobedient  land. 

His  minions  heard  it  sing,  and  bare 

The  port  of  Boston  felt  his  wrath ; 
They  let  no  ship  cast  anchor  there, 
They  summoned  Hunger  and  Despair, — 

And  curses  in  an  aftermath 

Followed  their  desolating  path. 

No  coal  might  enter  there,  nor  wood, 

Nor  Holland  flax,  nor  silk  from  France; 

No  drugs  for  dying  pangs,  no  food 

For  any  mother's  little  brood. 

"Now,"  said  the  King,  "we  have  our  chance, 
We'll  lead  the  haughty  knaves  a  dance/' 

Then  in  across  the  meadow  land, 
From  lonely  farm  and  hunter's  tent, 

From  fertile  field  and  fallow  strand, 

Pouring  it  out  with  lavish  hand, 

The  neighboring  burghs  their  bounty  sent, 
And  laughed  at  King  and  Parliament. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      43 

To  bring  them  succor,  Marblehead 
Joyous  her  deep-sea  fishing  sought. 

Her  trees,  with  ringing  stroke  and  tread, 

Old  many-rivered  Newbury  sped, 

And  Groton  in  heir  granaries  wrought, 
And  generous  flocks  old  Windham  brought. 

Rice  from  the  Carolinas  came, 

Iron  from  Pennsylvania's  forge, 
And,  with  a  spirit  all  aflame, 
Tobacco-leaf  and  corn  and  game 

The  Midlands  sent ;  and  in  his  gorge 

The  Colonies  defied  King  George ! 

And  Hartford  hung,  in  black  array, 

Her  town-house,  and  at  half-mast  there 

The  flags  flowed,  and  the  bells  all  day 

Tolled  heavily ;  and  far  away 
In  great  Virginia's  solemn  air 
The  House  of  Burgesses  held  prayer. 

Down  long  glades  of  the  forest  floor 

The  same  thrill  ran  through  every  vein, 

And  down  the  long  Atlantic's  shore; 

Its  heat  the  tyrant's  fetters  tore 

And  welded  them  through  stress  and  strain 
Of  long  years  to  a  mightier  chain. 

That  mighty  chain  with  links  of  steel 

Bound  all  the  Old  Thirteen  at  last, 
Through  one  electric  pulse  to  feel 
The  common  woe,  the  common  weal. 

And  that  great  day  the  Port  Bill  passed 

Made  us  a  nation  hard  and  fast. 

HARRIET  PRESCOTT  SPOFFORD. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


44      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


PAUL  REVERE'S  RIDE 

[Learning  that  the  British  Government  had  ordered  the  arrest 
of  Samuel  Adams  and  John  Hancock  at  Lexington,  Mass.,  and 
that  it  was  planned  for  the  morning  of  April  19,  1775,  Joseph 
Warren  despatched  Paul  Revere  to  arouse  the  Minute-Men  of  the 
county,  pledged  to  drop  all  else  for  a  call  to  arms.] 

Listen,  my  children,  and  you  shall  hear 

Of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere, 

On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy-five; 

Hardly  a  man  is  now  alive 

Who  remembers  that  famous  day  and  year. 

He  said  to  his  friend,  "If  the  British  march 

By  land  or  sea  from  the  town  to-night, 

Hang  a  lantern  aloft  in  the  belfry  arch 

Of  the  North  Church  tower  as  a  signal  light, — 

One,  if  by  land,  and  two,  if  by  sea ; 

And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be, 

Ready  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm 

Through  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, 

For  the  country  folk  to  be  up  and  to  arm." 

Then  he  said,  "Good  night !"  and  with  muffled  oar 

Silently  rowed  to  the  Charlestown  shore, 

Just  as  the  moon  rose  over  the  bay, 

Where  swinging  wide  at  her  moorings  lay 

The  Somerset,   British  man-of-war; 

A  phantom  ship,  with  each  mast  and  spar 

Across  the  moon  like  a  prison  bar, 

And  a  huge  black  hulk,  that  was  magnified 

By  its  own  reflection  in  the  tide. 

Meanwhile,  his   friend,  through  alley  and   street, 
Wanders  and  watches  with  eager  ears, 
Till  in  the  silence  around  him  he  hears 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      45 

The  muster  of  men  at  the  barrack  door, 
The  sound  of  arms,  and  the  tramp  of  feet, 
And  the  measured  tread  of  the  grenadiers, 
Marching  down  to  their  boats  on  the  shore. 

Then  he  climbed  the  tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 

By  the  wooden  stairs,  with  stealthy  tread, 

To  the  belfry-chamber  overhead, 

And  startled  the  pigeons  from  their  perch 

On  the  somber  rafters,  that  round  him  made 

Masses  and  moving  shapes  of  shade, — 

By  the  trembling  ladder,  steep  and  tall, 

To  the  highest  window  in  the  wall, 

Where  he  paused  to  listen  and  look  down 

A  moment  on  the  roofs  of  the  town, 

And  the  moonlight  flowing  over  all. 

Beneath,  in  the  churchyard,  lay  the  dead, 

In  their  night-encampment  on  the  hill, 

Wrapped  in  silence  so  deep  and  still 

That  he  could  hear,  like  a  sentinel's  tread, 

The  watchful  night- wind,  as  it  went 

Creeping  along  from  tent  to  tent, 

And  seeming  to  whisper,  "All  is  well !" 

A  moment  only  he  feels  the  spell 

Of  the  place  and  the  hour,  and  the  secret  dread 

Of  the  lonely  belfry  and  the  dead; 

For  suddenly  all  his  thoughts  are  bent 

On  a  shadowy  something  far  away, 

Where  the  river  widens  to  meet  the  bay, — 

A  line  of  black  that  bends  and  floats 

On  the  rising  tide,  like  a  bridge  of  boats. 

Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ride, 
Booted  and  spurred,  with  a  heavy  stride 
On  the  opposite  shore  walked  Paul  Revere. 
Now  he  patted  his  horse's  side, 
Now  gazed  at  the  landscape  far  and  near, 


46      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 

Then,  impetuous,  stamped  the  earth, 

And  turned  and  tightened  his  saddle-girth ; 

But  mostly  he  watched  with  eager  search 

The  belfry-tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 

As  it  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  hill, 

Lonely  and  spectral  and  somber  and  still. 

And  lo !  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfry's  height 

A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light ! 

He  springs  to  the  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns, 

But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 

A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns ! 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village  street, 

A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark, 

And  beneath,  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a  spark 

Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet : 

That  was  all !  And  yet,  through  the  gloom  and  the  light, 

The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night ; 

And  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed,  in  his  flight, 

Kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat. 

He  has  left  the  village  and  mounted  the  steep, 
And  beneath  him,  tranquil  and  broad  and  deep, 
Is  the  Mystic,  meeting  the  ocean  tides; 
And  under  the  alders  that  skirt  its  edge, 
Now  soft  on  the  sand,  now  loud  on  the  ledge, 
Is  heard  the  tramp  of  his  steed  as  he  rides. 

It  was  twelve  by  the  village  clock, 
When  he  crossed  the  bridge  into  Medford  town. 
He  heard  the  crowing  of  the  cock, 
And  the  barking  of  the  farmer's  dog, 
And  felt  the  damp  of  the  river  fog, 
That  rises  after  the  sun  goes  down. 
• 

It  was  one  by  the  village  clock, 
When  he  galloped  into  Lexington. 
He  saw  the  gilded  weathercock 
Swim  in  the  moonlight  as  he  passed, 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      47 

And  the  meeting-house  windows,  blank  and  bare, 

Gaze  at  him  with  a  spectral  glare, 

As  if  they  already  stood  aghast 

At  the  bloody  work  they  would  look  upon. 

It  was  two  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  came  to  the  bridge  in  Concord  town. 

He  heard  the  bleating  of  the  flock, 

And  the  twitter  of  birds  among  the  trees, 

And  felt  the  breath  of  the  morning  breeze 

Blowing  over  the  meadows  brown. 

And  one  was  safe  and  asleep  in  his  bed 

Who  at  the  bridge  would  be  first  to  fall, 

Who  that  day  would  be  lying  dead, 

Pierced  by  a  British  musket-ball. 

You  know  the  rest.    In  the  books  you  have  read, 
How  the  British  Regulars  fired  and  fled, — 
How  the  farmers  gave  them  ball  for  ball, 
From  behind  each  fence  and  farm-yard  wall, 
Chasing  the  red-coats  down  the  lane, 
Then  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  trees  at  the  turn  of  the  road, 
And  only  pausing  to  fire  and  load. 

So  through  the  night  rode  Paul  Revere ; 

And  so  through  the  night  went  his  cry  of  alarm 

To  every  Middlesex,  village  and  farm, — 

A  cry  of  defiance  and  not  of  fear, 

A  voice  in  the  darkness,  a  knock  at  the  door, 

And  a  word  that  shall  echo  forevermore ! 

For,  borne  on  the  night-wind  of  the  Past, 

Through  all  our  history,  to  the  last, 

In  the  hour  of  darkness  and  peril  and  need, 

The  people  will  waken  and  listen  to  hear 

The  hurrying  hoof-beats  of  that  steed, 

And  the  midnight  message  of  Paul  Revere. 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Bv  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


48      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


LEXINGTON 

[At  Lexington,  on  the  morning  of  April  19,  1775,  800  British 
regulars,  sent  for  the  arrest  of  Adams  and  Hancock,  were  met  by 
the  fast-gathering  Minute-Men.  After  a  fierce  skirmish  they 
pushed  on  to  Concord,  to  capture  some  military  stores  there.  But 
the  farmers  and  country-folk  lined  the  roads,  fences,,  and  Concord 
Bridge  with  rifles  and  shotguns,  and  the  retreat  to  Boston  was  u 
bloody  lesson  to  the  British — while  "the  clash  of  resounding  arms" 
aroused  the  Colonies  from  North  to  South.] 

Slowly  the  mist  o'er  the  meadow  was  creeping, 

Bright  on  the  dewy  buds  glistened  the  sun, 
When  from  his  couch,  while  his  children  were  sleeping, 
Rose  the  bold  rebel  and  shouldered  his  gun. 

Waving  her  golden  veil 

Over  the  silent  dale, 
Blithe  looked  the  morning  on  cottage  and  spire; 

Hushed  was  his  parting  sigh, 

While  from  his  noble  eye 
Flashed  the  last  sparkle  of  liberty's  fire. 

On  the  smooth  green  where  the  fresh  leaf  is  springing 

Calmly  the  first-born  of  glory  have  met ; 
Hark !  the  death-volley  around  them  is  ringing ! 

Look!  with  their  life-blood  the  young  grass  is  wet! 

Faint  is  the  feeble  breath, 

Murmuring  low  in  death, 
"Tell  to  our  sons  how  their  fathers  have  died ;" 

Nerveless  the  iron  hand, 

Raised  for  its  native  land, 
Lies  by  the  weapon  that  gleams  at  its  side. 

Over  the  hillsides  the  wild  knell  is  tolling, 

From  their  far  hamlets  the  yeomanry  come ; 
As  through  the  storm-clouds  the  thunder-burst  rolling, 
Circles  the  beat  of  the  mustering  drum. 
Fast  on  the  soldier's  path 
Darken  the  waves  of  wrath, — 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      49 

Long  have  they  gathered  and  loud  shall  they  fall ; 

Red  glares  the  musket's  flash, 

Sharp  rings  the  rifle's  crash, 
Blazing  and  clanging  from  thicket  and  wall. 

Gayly  the  plume  of  the  horseman  was  dancing, 

Never  to  shadow  his  cold  brow  again ; 
Proudly  at  morning  the  war-steed  was  prancing, 
Reeking  and  panting  he  droops  on  the  rein ; 
Pale  is  the  lip  of  scorn, 
Voiceless  the  trumpet  horn, 
Torn  is  the  silken- fringed  red  cross  on  high ; 
Many  a  belted  breast 
Low  on  the  turf  shall  rest 
Ere  the  dark  hunters  the  herd  have  passed  by. 

Snow-girdled  crags  where  the  hoarse  wind  is  raving, 
Rocks  where  the  weary  floods  murmur  and  wail, 
Wilds  where  the  fern  by  the  furrow  is  waving, 
Reeled  with  the  echoes  that  rode  on  the  gale ; 

Far  as  the  tempest  thrills 

Over  the  darkened  hills, 
Far  as  the  sunshine  streams  over  the  plain, 

Roused  by  the  tyrant  band, 

Woke  all  the  mighty  land, 
Girdled  for  battle,  from  mountain  to  main. 

Green  be  the  graves  where  her  martyrs  are  lying ! 

Shroudless  and  tombless  they  sunk  to  their  rest, 
While  o'er  their  ashes  the  starry  fold  flying 

Wraps  the  proud  eagle  they  roused  from  his  nest. 
Borne  on  her  Northern  pine, 
Long  o'er  the  foaming  brine 
Spread  her  broad  banner  to  storm  and  to  sun  ; 
Heaven  keep  her  ever  free, 
Wide  as  o'er  land  and  sea 
Floats  the  fair  emblem  her  heroes  have  won ! 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES 

Bv  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


50      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


CONCORD  HYMN 

[Sung  at  the  Completion  of  the  Battle  Monument,  April  19, 

By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 
Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 

Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 
And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 

The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept ; 

Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps ; 
And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  swept 

Down  the  dark  stream  which  seaward  creeps. 

On  this  green  bank,  by  this  soft  stream, 

We  set  to-day  a  votive  stone ; 
That  memory  may  their  deed  redeem, 

When,  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 

Spirit,  that  made  those  heroes  dare 

To  die,  or  leave  their  children  free, 
Bid  Time  and  Nature  gently  spare 

The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee. 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      51 


MECKLENBURG 

[The  first  formal  declaration  of  Colonial  rights  was  made  by 
citizens  of  Mecklenburg  County,  North  Carolina,  on  May  31,  1775, 
their  "Resolves"  being  quickened  by  news  of  Lexington  and  Con- 
cord during  their  discussions. ] 

Tell  me,  ye  winds,  if  e'er  ye  rest 

Your  wings  on  fairer  land, 
Save  when,  near  Araby  the  blest, 

Ye  scent  its  fragrant  strand? 
Tell  me,  ye  spirits  of  the  air: 

Know  ye  a  region  anywhere, 
By  night  or  day  that  can  compare 

With  Carolina,  bright  and  fair? 

Her  feet  she  plants  on  Ocean's  plane; 

Her  arms  the  hills  embrace ; 
In  mountain's  snow,  or  mist,  or  rain, 

She  laves  her  smiling  face; 
Turns  then  to  greet  Aurora's  dawn, 

Ere  yet  on  sea  the  day  is  born; 
And  stars  that  die  at  birth  of  morn 

Kiss  her  "good-by,"  and  then  are  gone! 

Fair  Ceres  smiles  o'er  waving  fields, 

On  hillside  and  on  plain; 
The  generous  soil  abundance  yields, 

With  sunshine  and  with  rain. 
Tell  me,  ye  rivers,  creeks,  and  rills: 

Know  ye  a  land  the  farmer  tills, 
That  larger  barns  and  granaries  fills 

Than  Carolina's  vales  and  hills  ? 

Beneath  her  soil,  just  hidden,  lie 

Treasures  of  priceless  worth, 
Which  in  their  value  well  may  vie 

With  richest  mines  of  earth. 
Then  list,  as  blithe  Hygeia  sings : 


52      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 

"Long  life  and  health  are  in  our  springs! 
Drink  deep ;  each  draught  new  vigor  brings ; 
Backward  old  Time  shall  turn  his  wings, 
Death  lose  his  stings !" 

On  Mecklenburg's  historic  ground, 

All  hail !  our  Charter  Tree ; 
Where  Freedom's  voice  was  first  to  sound 

The  watchword,  "Man  is  free!" 
That  clarion  note  the  nation  caught; 

Our  sires,  emboldened  by  the  thought, 
All  that  they  had  and  were  they  brought, 

For  altars,  homes  and  honor  fought, 
And  freedom  bought ! 

JAMES  A.  DELKE. 

From   Henry   B.   Carrington's    "Beacon   Lights   of   Patriotism,' 
Messrs.  Silver,  Burdett  &  Co.,  Publishers. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE       53 

THE  RISING 
FROM  "THE  WAGONER  OF  THE  ALLEGHANIES" 

Out  of  the  North  the  wild  news  came, 
Far  flashing  on  its  wings  of  flame. 
Swift  as  the  boreal  light  which  flies 
At  midnight  through  the  startled  skies. 

..•••••• 

Within  its  shade  of  elm  and  oak 

The  church  of  Berkeley  Manor  stood ; 
There  Sunday  found  the  rural  folk, 

And  some  esteem'd  of  gentle  blood. 

In  vain  their  feet  with  loitering  tread 
Pass'd  'mid  the  graves  where  rank  is  naught ; 
All  could  not  read  the  lesson  taught 

In  that  republic  of  the  dead. 

The  pastor  rose ;  the  prayer  was  strong ; 
The  psalm  was  warrior  David's  song ; 
The  text,  a  few  short  words  of  might, — 
'The  Lord  of  hosts  shall  arm  the  right !" 
He  spoke  of  wrongs  too  long  endured, 
Of  sacred  rights  to  be  secured; 
Then  from  his  patriot  tongue  of  flame 
The  startling  words  for  Freedom  came. 
The  stirring  sentences  he  spake 
Compeird  the  heart  to  glow  or  quake, 
And,  rising  on  his  theme's  broad  wing, 

And  grasping  in  his  nervous  hand 

The  imaginary  battle-brand, 
In  face  of  death  he  dared  to  fling 
Defiance  to  a  tyrant  King. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  his  frame,  renewed 
In  eloquence  of  attitude, 
Rose,  as  it  seem'd,  a  shoulder  higher ; 
Then  swept  his  kindling  glance  of  fire 
From  startled  pew  to  breathless  choir; 


54      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 

When  suddenly  his  mantle  wide 
His  hands  impatient  flung  aside, 
And,  lo !  he  met  their  wondering  eyes 
Complete  in  all  a  warrior's  guise. 

A  moment  there  was  awful  pause, — 

When   Berkeley   cried,    "Cease,   traitor!    cease! 

God's  temple  is  the  house  of  peace !" 

The  other  shouted,  "Nay,  not  so, 
When  God  is  with  our  righteous  cause ; 
His  holiest  places  then  are  ours, 
His  temples  are  our  forts  and  towers 

That  frown  upon  the  tyrant  foe ; 
In  this,  the  dawn  of  Freedom's  day, 
There  is  a  time  to  fight  and  play!" 

And  now  before  the  open  door — 

The  warrior  priest  had  ordered  so — 
The  enlisting  trumpet's  sudden  soar 
Rang  through  the  chapel,  o'er  and  o'er, 

Its  long  reverberating  blow, 
So  loud  and  clear,  it  seem'd  the  ear 
Of  dusty  death  must  wake  and  hear. 
And  there  the  startling  drum  and  fife 
Fired  the  living  with  fiercer  life ; 
While  overhead,  with  wild  increase, 
Forgetting  its  ancient  toll  of  peace, 

The  great  bell  swung  as  ne'er  before. 
It  seemed  as  it  would  never  cease ; 
And  every  word  its  ardor  flung 
From  off  its  jubilant  iron  tongue 

Was  "War!  war!  war!" 

"Who  dares" — this  was  the  patriot's  cry, 
As  striding  from  the  desk  he  came — 
"Come  out  with  me,  in  Freedom's  name, 

For  her  to  live,  for  her  to  die  ?" 

A  hundred  hands  flung  up  reply, 

A  hundred  voices  answer'd,  "I !" 

THOMAS  BUCHANAN  READ. 

By  permission  of  the  J.  B.  Lippincbtt  Company. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      55 


WARREN'.S  ADDRESS  AT  BUNKER  HILL 

[Large  British  forces  gathered  in  Boston  after  Lexington  and 
Concord,  while  thousands  of  Americans^  thronged  thither  for  the 
new  "Continental  Army"  that  sprang  into  being.  To  anticipate 
British  occupation  of  Charlestown,  1200  Americans  were  sent  to 
Bunker  Hill,  but  entrenched  on  Breed's  Hill,  where  (June  17, 
1775),  they  were  attacked  by  3000  British  veterans.  Joseph  War- 
ren, just  appointed  Major-General,  preferred  to  fight  as  a  volun- 
teer, and  greatly  inspirited  the  little  force.  His  death  at  the  end 
of  the  fight  was  deeply  deplored.] 

Stand !  the  ground's  your  own,  my  braves ! 
Will  ye  give  it  up  to  slaves  ? 
Will  ye  look  for  greener  graves? 

Hope  ye  mercy  still? 
What's  the  mercy  despots  feel  ? 
Hear  it  in  that  battle-peal ! 
Read  it  on  yon  bristling  steel ! 

Ask  it, — ye  who  will. 

Fear  ye  foes  who  kill  for  hire  ? 
Will  ye  to  your  homes  retire  ? 
Look  behind  you !  they're  a-fire ! 

And,  before  you,  see 
Who  have  done  it ! — From  the  vale 
On  they  come  ! — And  will  ye  quail  ? — 
Leaden  rain  and  iron  hail 

Let  their  welcome  be ! 

In  the  God  of  battles  trust! 
Die  we  may, — and  die  we  must ; 
But,  oh,  where  can  dust  to  dust 

Be  consigned  so  well, 
As  where  Heaven  its  dews  shall  shed 
On  the  martyred  patriot's  bed, 
And  the  rocks  shall  raise  their  head, 

Of  his  deeds  to  tell ! 

JOHN  PIERPONT. 


5 6       REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


THE  LONELY  BUGLE  GRIEVES 

FROM    AN    ODE    ON    THE    CELEBRATION    OF    THE    BATTLE    OF 
BUNKER   HILL,   JUNE    17,    1825. 

The  trump  hath  blown, 

And  now  upon  that  reeking  hill 
Slaughter  rides  screaming  on  the  vengeful  ball ; 

While  with  terrific  signal  shrill, 
The  vultures,  from  their  bloody  eyries  flown, 

Hang  o'er  them  like  a  pall. 

Now  deeper  roll  the  maddening  drums 

And  the  mingling  host  like  ocean  heaves ; 

While  from  the  midst  a  horrid  wailing  comes, 

And  high  above  the  fight  the  lonely  bugle  grieves. 

GRENVILLE  MELLEN. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      57 


WASHINGTON 

[In  June,  1775,  on  the  nomination  of  John  Adams  of  Massachu- 
setts, Congress  appointed  George  Washington  of  Virginia  Com- 
mander-in-Chief  of  the  Continental  Army,  and  on  July  3  he  as- 
sumed command  of  its  13,000  men,  in  Cambridge,  Mass.  On  the 
one  hundredth  anniversary  of  that  day  Loivell's  noble  Memorial 
Ode  was  read  by  himJ\ 

FROM   "UNDER  THE  OLD  ELM" 

Beneath  our  consecrated  elm 

A  century  ago  he  stood, 

Famed  vaguely  for  tjiat  old  fight  in  the  wood 

Whose  red  surge  sought,  but  could  not  overwhelm 

The  life  foredoomed  to  wield  our  roughhewn  helm: — 

From  colleges,  where  now  the  gown 

To  arms  had  yielded,  from  the  town, 

Our  rude  self -summoned  levies  flocked  to  see 

The  new-come  chief  and  wonder  which  was  he. 

No  need  to  question  long ;  close-lipped  and  tall, 

Long  trained  in  murder-brooding  forests  lone 

To  bridle  others'  clamors  and  his  own, 

Firmly  erect,  he  towered  above  them  all, 

The  incarnate  discipline  that  was  to  free 

With  iron  curb  that  armed  democracy. 

Never  to  see  a  nation  born 

Hath  been  given  to  mortal  man, 

Unless  to  those  who,  on  that  summer  morn, 

Gazed  silent  when  the  great  Virginian 

Unsheathed  the  sword  whose  fatal  flash 

Shot  union  through  the  incoherent  clash 

Of  our  loose  atoms,  crystallizing  them 

Around  a  single  will's  unpliant  stem, 

And  making  purpose  of  emotion  rash. 

Out  of  that  scabbard  sprang,  as  from  its  womb, 

Nebulous  at  first  but  hardening  to  a  star, 

Through  mutual  share  of  sunburst  and  of  gloom, 

The  common  faith  that  made  us  what  we  are. 


58       REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 

That  lifted  blade  transformed  our  jangling  clans, 

Till  then  provincial,  to  Americans, 

And  made  a  unity  of  wildering  plans ; 

Here  was  the  doom  fixed ;  here  is  marked  the  date 

When  this  New  World  awoke  to  man's  estate, 

Burnt  its  last  ship  and  ceased  to  look  behind : 

Soldier  and  Statesman,  rarest  unison ; 

High  poised  example  of  great  duties  done 

Simply  as  breathing,  a  world's  honors  worn 

As  life's  indifferent  gifts  to  all  men  born ; 

Dumb  for  himself,  unless  it  were  to  God, 

But  for  his  barefoot  soldiers  eloquent, 

Tramping  the  snow  to  coral  where  they  trod, 

Held  by  his  awe  in  hollow-eyed  content; 

Modest,  yet  firm  as  Nature's  self ;  unblamed 

Save  by  the  men  his  nobler  temper  shamed ; 

Never  seduced  through  show  of  present  good 

By  other  than  unsetting  lights  to  steer 

New  trimmed  in  Heaven,  nor  than  his  steadfast  mood 

More  steadfast,  far  from  rashness  as  from  fear; 

Rigid,  but  with  himself  first,  grasping  still 

In  swerveless  poise  the  wave-beat  helm  of  will; 

Not  honored  then  or  now  because  he  wooed 

The  popular  voice,  but  that  he  still  withstood ; 

Broad-minded,  higher  souled,  there  is  but  one 

Who  was  all  this,  and  ours  and  all  men's, — Washington. 

Placid  completeness,  life  without  a  fall 
From  faith  or  highest  aim,  truth's  breachless  wall, 
Surely,  if  any  fame  can  bear  the  touch, 
His  will  say  "Here !"  at  the  last  trumpet's  call, 
The  unexpressive  man  whose  life  expressed  so  much. 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      59 


YANKEE  DOODLE 

[A$  early  as  1755,  satirical  verses  on  the  awkward  American 
militia  serving  with  the  British  regulars  against  the  French  were 
sung  to  an  old  air  of  Cromwell's  time.  In  ridicule  this  was  played 
by  the  British  relief  troops  marching  to  rescue  their  retreating 
comrades  from  Lexington.  After  that  the  Americans  adopted  it 
in  triumph  and  played  "Yankee  Doodle"  throughout  the  war,  and 
at  its  close  before  York  town.  The  words  varied,  by  different 
writers,  and  ivere  laughed  at  by  the  Yankees  themselves;  but,  as 
to  the  tune,  they  sang — 

"/£  suits  for  feasts,  it  suits  for  fun, 
But  just  ast  well  for  fighting."] 

Fath'r  and  I  went  down  to  camp, 

Along  with  Captain  Goodin', 
And  there,  we  saw  the  men  and  boys 

As  thick  as  hasty  puddin'. 

CHORUS 

Yankee  Doodle  keep  it  up, 

Yankee  Doodle  dandy, 
Mind  the  music  and  the  step, 

And  with  the  girls  be  handy. 

And  there  we  see  a  thousand  men, 

As  rich  as  Squire  David; 
And  what  they  wasted  ev'ry  day, 

I  wish  it  could  be  saved. 

And   there   was    Captain   Washington 

Upon  a  slapping  stallion, 
A-giving  orders  to  his  men ; 

I  guess  there  was  a  million. 

And  then  the  feathers  on  his  hat, 

They  looked  so  very  fine,  ah! 
I  wanted  peskily  to  get 

To  give  to  my  Jemima, 


60      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 

And  there  I  see  a  swamping  gun, 

Large  as  a  log  of  maple, 
Upon  a  mighty  little  cart ; 

A  load  for  father's  cattle. 

And  every  time  they  fired  it  off, 

It  took  a  horn  of  powder; 
It  made  a  noise  like  father's  gun, 

Only  a  nation  louder. 

And  there  I  see  a  little  keg, 

Its  head  all  made  of  leather, 
They  knocked  upon't  with  little  sticks, 

To  call  the  folks  together. 

And  Cap'n  Davis  had  a  gun, 

He  kind  o'  clapt  his  hand  .on't 
And  stuck  a  crooked  stabbing-iron 

Upon  the  little  end  on't. 

The  troopers,  too,  would  gallop  up 

And  fire  right  in  our  faces ; 
It  scared  me  almost  half  to  death 

To  see  them  run  such  races. 

It  scared  me  so  I  hooked  it  off, 

Nor  stopped,  as  I  remember, 
Nor  turned  about  till  I  got  home, 

Locked  up  in  mother's  chamber. 

From  "The  Story  of  Our  National  Ballads,"  by  C.  A.  Browne, 
by  permission  of  the  Thomas  Y.  Crowell  Company. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      61 


THE  BOASTING  OF  SIR  PETER  PARKER 

[In  June,  1776,  the  British  undertook  to  capture  Charleston, 
S.  C. — Clinton  and  Cornwallis  by  land,  and  Sir  Peter  Parker  by 
sea.  The  sea  fight,  on  June  28,  failed,  and  the  expedition  was 
given  up.] 

JT  was  the  proud  Sir  Peter  Parker  came  sailing  in  from 

the  sea, 
With  his  serried  ships-of-line  a-port,  and  his  ships-of- 

line  a-lee ; 
A  little  lead  for  a  cure,  he  said,  for  these  rebel  sires  and 

sons! 
And  the  folk  on  the  Charleston  roof-tops  heard  the  roar 

of  the  shotted  guns ; 
They  heard  the   roar  of   the  guns  off  shore,  but  they 

marked,  with  a  hopeful  smile, 
The  answering  ire  of  a  storm  of  fire   from  Sullivan's 

sandy  isle. 

'T  was  the  proud  Sir  Peter  Parker  who  saw  with  the 

climbing  noon 
Ruin  and  wreck  on  each  blood-stained  deck  that  day  in 

the  wane  of  June, — 
The  shivered  spar  and  the  shattered  beam  and  the  torn 

and  toppling  mast 
And  the  grimy  gunners  wounded  sore,  and  the  seamen 

falling  fast ; 
But  from  the  stubborn  fort  ashore  no  sight  of  a  single 

sign 
That  the  rebel  sires  and  sons  had  quailed  before  his  ships- 

of-the-line. 

'T  was  the  proud  Sir  Peter  Parker  who  saw  the  fall  of 

the  flag 
From  the  fortress  wall ;  then  rang  his  call : — They  have 

lost  their  rebel  rag! 
And  the  fifty  guns  of  the  Bristol  flamed,  and  the  volumed 

thunder  rolled ; 
'T  is  now,  the  haughty  Admiral  cried,  we'll  drive  them 

out  of  their  hold! 


62       REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 

But  little  he  knew,  and  his  British  crew,  how  small  was 

their  vaunted  power, 
For  lo,  to  the  rampart's  crest  there  leaped  the  dauntless 

man  of  the  hour ! 

'T  was  the  proud  Sir  Peter  Parker  who  saw  with  a  wild 

amaze 
This  hero  spring  from  the  fortress  height  'mid  the  hail 

and  the  fiery  haze ; 
Under  the  wall  he  strode,  each  step  with  the  deadliest 

danger  fraught, 
And  up  from  the  sand  with  a  triumph  hand  the  splintered 

staff  he  caught. 
Then,  still  unscathed  by  the  iron  rain,  he  clambered  the 

parapet, 
And  'mid  the  burst  of  his  comrades'  cheers  the  flag  on 

the  bastion  set. 

'T  was  the  proud  Sir  Peter  Parker  who  slunk  through 

the  night  to  sea, 
With  his  shattered  ships-of-line  a-port  and  his  ships-of- 

line  a-lee; 
Above  there  was  wreck,  and  below  was  wreck,  and  the 

sense  of  loss  and  woe, 
For  the  sneered-at  rebel  sires  and  sons  had  proved  them 

a  direful  foe ; 
But  War's  dark  blight  on  the  land  lay  light,  and  they 

hailed  with  a  joyful  smile 
The  stars  of  victory  burning  bright  over  Sullivan's  sandy 

isle. 

CLINTON  SCOLLARD. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      63 


THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY 

[The  sentiment  of  independence  from  Britain  had  risen  ast  the 
war  went  on,  and  on  July  2,  1776,  the  Continental  Congress  (rep- 
resenting a  loose  Confederation,  ivith  no  Federal  head),  voted,  on 
motion  of  Richard  Henry  Lee,  that  "These  United  Colonies  are  and 
of  right  ought  to  be  free  and  independent,"  etc.;  appointed  a  Com- 
mittee, of  which  Thomas  Jefferson  ivas  chairman,  to  formulate  a 
Declaration  of  that  Independence;  and  on  July  4,  1776,  it  was 
adopted  and  signed.] 

Day  of  glory !  Welcome  day ! 
Freedom's  banners  greet  thy  ray ; 
See !  how  cheerfully  they  play 

With  thy  morning  breeze, 
On  the  rocks  where  pilgrims  kneeled, 
On  the  heights  where  squadrons  wheeled, 
When  a  tyrant's  thunder  pealed 

O'er  the  trembling  seas. 

God  of  armies !  did  thy  stars 
On  their  courses  smite  his  cars; 
Blast  his  arm,  and  wrest  his  bars 

From  the  heaving  tide? 
On  our  standard,  lo !  they  burn, 
And,  when  days  like  this  return, 
Sparkle  o'er  the  soldier's  urn 

Who  for  freedom  died. 

God  of  peace !  whose  spirit  fills 
All  the  echoes  of  our  hills, 
All  the  murmur  of  our  rills, 

Now  the  storm  is  o'er, 
O  let  freemen  be  our  sons, 
And  let  future  Washingtons 
Rise,  to  lead  their  valiant  ones 

Till  there's  war  no  more ! 

JOHN  PIERPONT. 


64      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


COLUMBIA 

Columbia,  Columbia,  to  glory  arise, 

The  queen  of  the  world  and  the  child  of  the  skies ! 

Thy  genius  commands  thee ;  with  rapture  behold, 

While  ages  on  ages  thy  splendors  unfold, 

Thy  reign  is  the  last  and  the  noblest  of  time, 

Most  fruitful  thy  soil,  most  inviting  thy  clime ; 

Let  the  crimes  of  the  East  ne'er  encrimson  thy  name, 

Be  freedom  and  science  and  virtue  thy  fame. 

To  conquest  and  slaughter  let  Europe  aspire ; 
Whelm  nations  in  blood,  and  wrap  cities  in  fire ; 
Thy  heroes  the  rights  of  mankind  shall  defend, 
And  triumph  pursue  them,  and  glory  attend. 
A  world  is  thy  realm ;  for  a  world  be  thy  laws 
Enlarged  as  thine  empire,  and  just  as  thy  cause ; 
On  Freedom's  broad  basis  that  empire  shall  rise, 
Extend  with  the  main,  and  dissolve  with  the  skies, 

Fair  Science  her  gates  to  thy  sons  shall  unbar, 

And  the  East  see  thy  morn  hide  the  beams  of  her  star. 

New  bards  and  new  sages  unrivaled  shall  soar 

To  fame  unextinguished  when  time  is  no  more ; 

To  thee,  the  last  refuge  of  virtue  designed, 

Shall  fly  from  all  nations  the  best  of  mankind ; 

Here,  grateful  to  Heaven,  with  transport  shall  bring 

Their  incense,  more  fragrant  than  odors  of  spring. 

Nor  less  shall  thy  fair  ones  to  glory  ascend, 
And  genius  and  beauty  in  harmony  blend ; 
The  graces  of  form  shall  awake  pure  desire, 
And  the  charms  of  the  soul  ever  cherish  the  fire ; 
Their  sweetness  unmingled,  their  manners  refined, 
And  virtue's  bright  image  enstamped  on  the  mind, 
With  peace  and  soft  rapture  shall  teach  life  to  glow, 
And  light  up  a  smile  on  the  aspect  of  woe. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      65 

Thy  fleets  to  all  regions  thy  power  shall  display, 
The  nations  admire,  and  the  ocean  obey; 
Each  shore  to  thy  glory  its  tribute  unfold, 
And  the  East  and  the  South  yield  their  spices  and  gold. 
As  the  dayspring  unbounded  thy  splendor  shall  flow, 
And  earth's  little  kingdoms  before  thee  shall  bow, 
While  the  ensigns  of  union,  in  triumph  unfurled, 
Hush  the  tumult  of  war,  and  give  peace  to  the  world. 

Thus,  as  down  a  lon,e  valley,  with  cedars  overspread, 
From  war's  dread  confusion,  I  pensively  strayed, — 
The  gloom  from  the  face  of  fair  heaven  retired ; 
The  wind  ceased  to  murmur,  the  thunders  expired; 
Perfumes,  as  of  Eden,  flowed  sweetly  along, 
And  a  voice,  as  of  angels,  enchantingly  sung: 
"Columbia,  Columbia,  to  glory  arise, 
The  queen  of  the  world,  and  the  child  of  the  skies!" 

TIMOTHY  DWIGHT. 


66       REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 

NATHAN  HALE 

[To  get  for  General  Washington  correct  information  of  British 
designs  in  New  York  City,  Captain  Nathan  Hale  of  the  Connecti- 
cut Rangers  entered  the  enemy's  lines  in  disguise,  was  captured, 
and  hanged  the  next  morning,  September  22,  1776.  His  last  words 
were:  "I  only  regret  that  I  have  but  one  life  to  lose  for  my  coun- 
try:'} 

To  drum-beat  and  heart-beat, 

A  soldier  marches  by ; 
There  is  color  in  his  cheek, 

There  is  courage  in  his  eye, 
Yet  to  drum-beat  and  heart-beat 
In  a  moment  he  must  die. 

By  the  starlight  and  moonlight, 

He  seeks  the  Briton's  camp; 
He  hears  the  rustling  flag 

And  the  armed  sentry's  tramp; 
And  the  starlight  and  moonlight 

His  silent  wanderings  lamp. 

With  slow  tread  and  still  tread, 

He  scans  the  tented  line ; 
And  he  counts  the  battery  guns, 

By  the  gaunt  and  shadowy  pine; 
And  his  slow  tread  and  still  tread 

Gives  no  warning  sign. 

The  dark  wave,  the  plumed  wave, 

It  meets  his  eager  glance; 
And  it  sparkles  'neath  the  stars, 

Like  the  glimmer  of  a  lance — 
A  dark  wave,  a  plumed  wave, 

On  an  emerald  expanse. 

A  sharp  clang,  a  still  clang, 

And  terror  in  the  sound ! 
For  the  sentry,  falcon-eyed, 

In  the  camp  a  spy  hath  found; 
With  a  sharp  clang,  a  steel  clang, 

The  patriot  is  bound. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      67 

With  calm  brow,  and  steady  brow, 

He  listens  to  his  doom ; 
In  his  look  there  is  no  fear, 

Nor  a  shadow-trace  of  gloom ; 
But  with  calm  brow  and  steady  brow, 

He  robes  him  for  the  tomb. 

In  the  long  night,  the  still  night, 

He  kneels  upon  the  sod; 
And  the  brutal  guards  withhold 

E'en  the  solemn  word  of  God! 
In  the  long  night,  the  still  night, 

He  walks  where  Christ  hath  trod. 

'Neath  the  blue  morn,  the  sunny  morn, 

He  dies  upon  the  tree ; 
And  he  mourns  that  he  can  lose 

But  one  life  for  Liberty ; 
And  in  the  blue  morn,  the  sunny  morn, 

His  spirit  wings  are  free. 

But  his  last  words,  his  message-words, 

They  burn,  lest  friendly  eye 
Should  read  how  proud  and  calm 

A  patriot  could  die, 
With  his  last  words,  his  dying  words, 

A   soldier's   battle-cry. 

From  Fame-leaf  and  Angel-leaf, 

From  monument  and  urn, 
The  sad  of  earth,  the  glad  of  heaven, 

His  tragic  fate  shall  learn ; 
But  on  Fame-leaf  and  Angel-leaf 

The  name  of  HALE  shall  burn! 

FRANCIS  MILES  FINCH. 

From  "The  Blue  and  the  Gray  and  Other  Poems,"  by  permis- 
sion of  Henry  Holt  and  Company. 


68      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


THE  AMERICAN  FLAG 

[On  June  14,  1777,  Congress  ordered  the  adoption  of  a  national 
flag,  representing  the  thirteen  States  by  thirteen  alternate  red  and 
white  stripes,  with  thirteen  white  stars  in  a  blue  field.  So  it  re- 
mains, except  for  the  addition  of  a  star  for  every  new  State  enter- 
ing the  Union.] 

When  Freedom  from  her  mountain  height 
Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 

She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night. 
And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there. 

She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dyes 

The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies, 

And  striped  its  pure  celestial  white 

With  streakings  of  the  morning  light ; 

Then  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun 

She  called  her  eagle-bearer  down, 

And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand 

The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land. 

Majestic  monarch  of  the  cloud, 

Who  rear'st  aloft  thy  regal  form, 
To  hear  the  tempest-trumpings  loud 
And  see  the  lightning  lances  driven, 

When  strive  the  warriors  of  the  storm, 
And  rolls  the  thunder-drum  of  heaven, — 
Child  of  the  sun !  to  thee  'tis  given 

To  guard  the  banner  of  the  free, 
To  hover  in  the  sulphur  smoke, 
To  ward  away  the  battle-stroke, 
And  bid  its  blendings  shine  afar, 
Like  rainbows  on  the  cloud  of  war, 

The  harbinger  of  victory ! 

Flag  of  the  brave !  thy  folds  shall  fly, 
The  sign  of  hope  and  triumph  high, 
When  speaks  the  signal  trumpet  tone, 
And  the  long  line  comes  gleaming  on ; 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      69 

Ere  yet  the  life-blood,  warm  and  wet, 
Has  dimmed  the  glistening  bayonet, 
Each  soldier  eye  shall  brightly  turn 
To  where  thy  sky-born  glories  burn, 
And,  as  his  springing  steps  advance, 
Catch  war  and  vengeance  from  the  glance ; 
And  when  the  cannon-mouthings  loud 
Heave  in  wild  wreaths  the  battle  shroud, 
And  gory  sabers  rise  and  fall 
Like  shoots  of  flame  on  midnight's  pall, 

Then  shall  thy  meteor-glances  glow, 
And  cowering  foes  shall  shrink  beneath 

Each  gallant  arm  that  strikes  below 
That  lovely  messenger  of  death. 

Flag  of  the  seas !  on  ocean  wave 
Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o'er  the  brave ; 
When  death,  careering  on  the  gale, 
Sweeps  darkly  round  the  bellied  sail, 
And  frighted  waves  rush  wildly  back 
Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack, 
Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea 
Shall  look  at  once  to  heaven  and  thee, 
And  smile  to  see  thy  splendors  fly 
In  triumph  o'er  his  closing  eye. 

Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home ! 

By  angel  hands  to  valor  given ; 
Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome, 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
And  fixed  as  yonder  orb  divine, 

That  saw  thy  bannered  blaze  unfurled, 
Shall  thy  proud  stars  resplendent  shine, 

The  guard  and  glory  of  the  world. 
Forever  float  that  standard  sheet ! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  us, 
With   Freedom's  soil  beneath  our   feet, 

And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us? 

JOSEPH  RODMAN  DRAKE. 


70      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


A  SONG  FOR  OUR  FLAG 

A  bit  of  color  against  the  blue : 
Hues  of  the  morning,  blue  for  true, 
And  red  for  the  kindling  light  of  flame, 
And  white  for  a  nation's  stainless  fame. 
Oh !  fling  it  forth  to  the  winds  afar, 
With  hope  in  its  every  shining  star :. 
Under  its  folds  wherever  found, 
Thank  God,  we  have  freedom's  holy  ground. 

Don't  you  love  it,  as  out  it  floats 

From  the  school-house  peak,  and  glad  young  throats 

Sing  of  the  banner  that  aye  shall  be 

Symbol  of  honor  and  victory? 

Don't  you  thrill  when  the  marching  feet 

Of  jubilant  soldiers  shake  the  street, 

And  the  bugles  shrill,  and  the  trumpets  call, 

And  the  red,  white,  and  blue  is  over  us  all  ? 

Don't  you  pray,  amid  starting  tears, 

It  may  never  be  furled  through  age-long  years? 

A  song  for  our  flag,  our  country's  boast, 
That  gathers  beneath  it  a  mighty  host ; 
Long  may  it  wave  o'er  the  goodly  land 
We  hold  in  fee  'neath  our  Father's  hand. 
For  God  and  liberty  evermore 
May  that  banner  stand  from  shore  to  shore, 
Never  to  those  high  meanings  lost, 
Never  with  alien  standards  crossed, 
But  always  valiant  and  pure  and  true, 
Our  starry  flag:  red,  white,  and  blue. 

MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER. 

^  By  courtesy  of  the  Author,  and  by  permission  of,  and  by  spe- 
cial arrangement  with,  Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized 
Publishers. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      71 


BATTLE  OF  TRENTON 

[The  British  in  New  York  being  too  strong  for  him,  Washing- 
ton crossed  New  Jersey  to  the  west  side  of  the  Delaware  River,  the 
British  holding  Trenton  and  Princeton.  On  Christmas  night,  Dec. 
25,  1776,  he  recrossed  the  icy  Delaware,  at  dawn  of  the  26th  sur- 
prised and  routed  the  British  at  Trenton,  and  pursued  them  to 
Princeton,  where,  on  Jan.  3,  1777,  he  routed  them  again, — ending 
a  dashing  campaign  of  three  weeks  in  triumph,  with  headquarters 
at  Morristozvn,  impregnable  for  many  months,  and  New  Jersey  re- 
deemed from  British  control.] 

On  Christmas-day  in  seventy-six, 

Our  ragged  troops  with  bayonets  fixed, 

For  Trenton  marched  away. 
The  Delaware  see !  the  boats  below ! 
The  light  obscured  by  hail  and  snow ! 

But  no  signs  of  dismay. 

Our  object  was  the  Hessian  band, 
That  dared  invade  fair  freedom's  land, 

And  quarter  in  that  place. 
Great  Washington  he  led  us  on, 
Whose  streaming  flag,  in  storm  or  sun, 

Had  never  known  disgrace. 

In  silent  march  we  passed  the  night, 
Each  soldier  panting  for  the  fight, 

Though  quite  benumbed  with  frost. 
Greene,  on  the  left,  at  six  began, 
The  right  was  led  by  Sullivan, 

Who  ne'er  a  moment  lost. 

The  pickets  stormed,  the  alarm  was  spread, 
The  rebels  risen  from  the  dead 

Were  marching  into  town. 
Some  scampered  here,   some  scampered  there, 
And  some  for  action  did  prepare ; 

But  soon  their  arms  laid  down. 


72      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 

Twelve  hundred  servile  miscreants, 
With  all  their  colors,  guns  and  tents, 

Were  trophies  of  the  day. 
The  frolic  o'er,  the  bright  canteen 
In  center,  front,  and  rear  was  seen 

Driving  fatigue  away. 

Now,  brothers  of  the  patriot  bands, 
Let's  sing  deliverance  from  the  hands 

Of  arbitrary  sway. 
And  as  our  life  is  but  a  span, 
Let's  touch  the  tankard  while  we  can, 

In  memory  of  that  day. 

ANONYMOUS. 

From    "Poems    of    American    Patriotism,"    edited    by    Brander 
Matthews,  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  publishers. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE       73 
PAUL  JONES 

[Lacking  a  navy,  at  first  the  Revolutionaries  warred  effectively 
with  privateers,  among  whom  John  Paul  Jones,  a  seafaring 
Scotchman,  soon  was  noted  for  skill  and  limitless  daring.  He 
raised  the  first  Revolutionary  flag  (design,  a  pine  tree,  coiled 
rattlesnake  below,  and  motto,  "Don't  tread  on  me!"),  and  claimed 
to  have  received  the  first  foreign  salute  to  the  Stars  and  Stripes 
while  bearing  the  Commission  of  the  United  States  in  French 
waters.} 

A  song  unto  Liberty's  brave  Buccaneer, 

Ever  bright  be  the  fame  of  the  patriot  Rover, 
For  our  rights  he  first  fought  in  his  "black  privateer," 
And  faced  the  proud  foe  ere  our  sea  they  cross'd  over, 
In  their  channel  and  coast, 
He  scattered  their  host, 

And  proud  Britain  robbed  of  her  sea-ruling  boast, 
And  her  rich  merchants'  barks  shunned  the  ocean  in  fear 
Of  Paul  Jones,  fair  Liberty's  brave  Buccaneer. 

In  the  first  fleet  that  sailed  in  defence  of  our  land, 

Paul  Jones  forward  stood  to  defend  freedom's  arbor, 
He  led  the  bold  Alfred  at  Hopkins'  command, 

And  drove  the  fierce  foeman  from  Providence  harbor, 
'Twas  his  hand  that  raised 
The  first  flag  that  blazed, 

And  his  deeds  'neath  the  "Pine  tree"  all  ocean  amaz'd, 
For  hundreds  of  foes  met  a  watery  bier 
From  Paul  Jones,  fair  Liberty's  brave  Buccaneer. 

His  arm  crushed  the  Tory  and  mutinous  crew 

That  strove  to  have  freemen  inhumanly  butchered; 
Remember  his  valor  at  proud  Flamborough, 

When  he  made  the  bold  Serapis  strike  to  the  Richard; 
Oh !  he  robbed  of  their  store 
The  vessels  sent  o'er 

To  feed  all  the  Tories  and  foes  on  our  shore, 
He  gave  freemen  the  spoils  and  long  may  they  revere 
The  name  of  fair  Liberty's  bold  Buccaneer. 

ANONYMOUS. 

From  "Poems  of  American  History,"  edited  by  Burton  E.  Ste- 
venson. 


74      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


THE  YANKEES 
FROM  "CONNECTICUT" 

[The  little  battle  oft  Bennington,  Vt.,  under  Colonel  John  Stark, 
August  16,  1777,  was  the  turning  point  of  the  British  General  Bur- 
goyne's  attempt  to  balance  in  northern  New  York  Washington's 
brilliant  successes  in  Nezv  Jersey.  The  British,  held  on  the  Hud- 
son, on  September  13  crossed  to  the  west  to  capture  Albany,  but  at 
Stillwater,  on  October  7,  Gen.  Benedict  Arnold's  splendid  leader- 
ship defeated  them,  and  a  week  later,  at  Saratoga,  the  British.  Bur- 
goyne  surrendered.] 

Still  her  gray  rocks  tower  above  the  sea 

That  crouches  at  her  feet,  a  conquered  wave : 

'Tis  a  rough  land  of  earth,  and  stone,  and  tree, 
Where  breathes  no  castled  lord  or  cabined  slave ; 

Where  thoughts,  and  tongues,  and  hands  are  bold  and  free 
And  friends  will  find  a  welcome,  foes  a  grave ; 

And  where  none  kneel  save  when  to  Heaven  they  pray, 

Nor  even  then,  unless  in  their  own  way. 

They  love  their  land,  because  it  is  their  own ; 

And  scorn  to  give  aught  other  reason  why; 
Would  shake  hands  with  a  King  upon  his  throne, 

And  think  it  kindness  to  His  Majesty ; 
A  stubborn  race,  fearing  and  flattering  none. 

Such  are  they  nurtured,  such  they  live  and  die, 
All — but  a  few  apostles,  who  are  meddling 
With  merchandise,  pound,  shillings,  pence  and  peddling. 

And  minds  have  been  there  nurtured,  whose  control 

Is  felt  even  in  their  nation's  destiny ; 
Men  who  swayed  Senates  with  a  statesman's  soul, 

And  looked  on  armies  with  a  leader's  eye ; 
Names  that  adorn  and  dignify  the  scroll, 

Whose  leaves  contain  their  country's  history, 
And  tales  of  love  and  war — listen  to  one, 
Of   the   Green-Mountaineer — the    Stark   of    Bennington. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      75 

When  on  that  field  his  band  the  Hessians  fought, 

Briefly  he  spoke  before  the  fight  began : 
"Soldiers !  these  German  gentlemen  are  bought 

For  four  pound,  eight  and  sevenpence  per  man, 
By  England's  King ;  a  bargain,  as  is  thought. 

Are  we  worth  more  ?     Let's  prove  it,  now  we  can ; 
For  we  must  beat  them,  boys,  ere  set  of  sun, 

OR  MARY  STARK'S  A  WIDOW." — It  was  done. 

FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK. 


76       REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


VALLEY  FORGE 

[After  Washington's  defeats  at  the  Brandywine  and  German- 
tozvn,  September  11,  1777,  trying  to  save  Philadelphia  from  the 
British,  he  retired  with  the  remnants  of  his  brave  army  to  Valley 
Forge,  near  that  city.  There,  without  proper  shelter,  clothing  or 
provisions^  the  patriots  spent  an  agonising  ivinter,  while  their  great 
leader  vainly  besought  Congress  for  relief.} 

FROM  "THE  WAGONER  OF  THE  ALLEGHANIES" 

O'er  town  and  cottage,  vale  and  height, 
Down  came  the  Winter,  fierce  and  white, 
And  shuddering  wildly,  as  distraught 
At  horrors  his  own  hand  had  wrought. 

How  sad  the  wretch  at  morn  or  eve 

Compelled  his  starving  home  to  leave, 

Who,  plunged  breast-deep  from  drift  to  drift, 

Toils  slowly  on  from  rift  to  rift, 

Still  hearing  in  his  aching  ear 

The  cry  his  fancy  whispers  near, 

Of  little  ones  who  weep  for  bread 

Within  an  ill-provided  shed ! 

But  wilder,  fiercer,  sadder  still, 

Freezing  the  tear  it  caused  to  start, 
Was  the  inevitable  chill 

Which  pierced  a  nation's  agued  heart, — 
A  nation  with  its  naked  breast 
Against  the  frozen  barriers  prest, 
Heaving  its  tedious  way  and  slow 
Through  shifting  gulfs  and  drifts  of  woe, 
Where  every  blast  that  whistled  by 
Was  bitter  with  its  children's  cry. 

Such  was  the  winter's  awful  sight 
For  many  a  dreary  day  and  night, 
What  time  our  country's  hope  forlorn, 
Of  every  needed  comfort  shorn. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      77 

Lay  housed  within  a  hurried  tent, 
Where  every  keen  blast  found  a  rent, 
And  oft  the  snow  was  seen  to  sift 
Along  the  floor  its  piling  drift, 
Or,  mocking  the  scant  blankets'  fold, 
Across  the  night-couch  frequent  rolled ; 
Where  every  path  by  a  soldier  beat, 

Or  every  track  where  a  sentinel  stood, 
Still  held  the  print  of  naked  feet, 

And  oft  the  crimson  stain  of  blood ; 
Where  Famine  held  her  spectral  court, 

Arid  joined  by  all  her  fierce  allies: 
She  ever  loved  a  camp  or  fort 

Beleaguered  by  the  wintry  skies, — 
But  chiefly  when  Disease  is  by, 
To  sink  the  frame  and  dim  the  eye, 
Until,  with  seeking  forehead  bent, 

In  martial  garments  cold  and  damp, 
Pale  Death  patrols  from  tent  to  tent, 

To  count  the  charnels  of  the  camp. 

Such  was  the  winter  that  prevailed 
Within  the  crowded,  frozen  gorge; 

Such  were  the  horrors  that  assailed 
The  patriot  band  at  Valley  Forge. 

It  was  a  midnight  storm  of  woes 

To  clear  the  sky  for  Freedom's  morn ; 
And  such  must  ever  be  the  throes 
The  hour  when  Liberty  is  born. 

THOMAS  BUCHANAN  READ. 
By  permission  of  the  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  the  Publishers. 


78      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


MOLLY  PITCHER 

[At  the  battle  of  Monmputh,  N.  /.,  June  28,  1778,  an  Irish  gun- 
ner was  killed,  and  his  wife  sprang  to  take  his  gun  and  served  it 
manfully,  the  next  day  being  praised  by  Washington.] 

'Twas  hurry  and  scurry  at  Monmouth  town, 

For  Lee  was  beating  a  wild  retreat; 
The  British  were  riding  the  Yankees  down, 

And  panic  was  pressing  on  flying  feet. 

Galloping  down  like  a  hurricane 

Washington  rode  with  his  sword  swung  high, 
Mighty  as  he  of  the  Trojan  plain 

Fired  by  a  courage  from  the  sky. 

"Halt,  and  stand  to  your  guns !"  he  cried. 

And  a  bombardier  made  swift  reply. 
Wheeling  his  cannon  into  the  tide, 

He  fell  'neath  the  shot  of  a  foeman  nigh. 

Molly  Pitcher  sprang  to  his  side, 

Fired  as  she  saw  her  husband  do. 
Telling  the  king  in  his  stubborn  pride 

Women  like  men  to  their  homes  are  true. 

Washington  rode  from  the  bloody  fray 
Up  to  the  gun  that  a  woman  manned. 

"Molly  Pitcher,  you  saved  the  day," 
He  said,  as  he  gave  her  a  hero's  hand. 

He  named  her  sergeant  with  manly  praise, 

While  her  war-brown  face  was  wet  with  tears — 

A  woman  has  ever  a  woman's  ways, 
And  the  army  was  wild  with  cheers. 

KATE  BROWNLEE  SHERWOOD. 

Copyright,  MCMII,  by  Oliver  Ditson  Company. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      79 
.    THE  FREEING  OF  ILLINOIS 

KASKASKIA,  JULY  4,   1778 

[Referring  to  the  rescue  of  the  "Illinois  Country"  from  British 
rule,  the  'New  International  Encyclopedia"  says:  "Clark's  services 
during  the  Revolutionary  War  were  of  the  utmost  value  .  .  .  inas- 
much as  the  virtual  conquest  of  the  Northwest  served  as,  perhaps, 
the^  chief  basis  of  the  American  claim  to  the  territory  between  the 
Mississippi  and  the  Alleghanies.  But  for  this  .  .  .  the  western  ter- 
ritory would  probably  have  passed  to  England  or  to  Spain."} 

Where  brims  the  broad  Ohio  as  it  foams  adown  the  Falls 

Our  Long  Knives  haste,  grim,  iron-faced,  when  free  Vir- 
ginia calls ; 

Kentucky's  here  on  her  frontier  with  tall  men  lean  and 
dark 

And,  best  of  all  for  desperate  work,  their  chief,  George 
Rogers  Clark. 

Beyond  the  broad  Ohio  lie  the  lands  of  Illinois 
Whence  British  bribes  send  savage  tribes  to  ravage  and 

destroy. 
As  fierce  allies  they  gain  supplies,  run  forth  to  scalp  and 

slay 
Our  settlers,  women,  youth,  and  babes,  in  merciless  affray. 

Along  the  summer  prairies  green  with  grasses  tall  and 

sweet 
Our  sevenscore  men,  sevenscore  and  ten,  march  on  with 

flying  feet. 
A  thousand  miles  between  their  files  and  their  Virginian 

leas, 
A  hundred  miles  and  twenty  to  the  fortress  they  must 

seize. 

Six  days  along  the  prairie  speed  our  hardy  bordermen. 
They  lose  their  way — lose  near  a  day  in  finding  it  again ; 
And  rest  their  flight  that  July  night  when,  only  two  years 

gone, 
The  great  bell  boomed  to  tell  the  world  of   Freedom 

marching  on. 


So      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 

On  Independence  Night  they  bring  Kaskaskia  in  view. 
Before  them  lies  upon  the  rise  Fort  Gage  against  the 

blue— 
A  fort  whose  name's  a  thing  of  shame  borne  late  in 

Boston  Town 
By  him  who  ordered  murder  at  Old  Concord  for  the 

Crown. 

Over  the  evening  river  Clark  is  ferried  with  his  band. 
With  silent  stride  they  quick  divide  when  once  they  gain 

the  land, 

Himself  to  creep  upon  the  keep,  and  find  the  postern  gate 
Unguarded.     Black  the  entrance,  but  he  does  not  hesitate. 

Upon  the  astonished  commandant,  that  gray  French  rene- 
gade 

Rocheblave  by  name,  with  his  shrewd  dame,  Clark  comes 
with  shining  blade. 

He  curses  Clark ;  and  strikes  a  spark,  for  out  he  goes  in 
chains. 

A  prison  in  Virginia  he  gets  for  all  his  pains. 

Meanwhile  our  bold  frontiersmen  surge  on  down  the  vil- 
lage street. 

They  take  it  hot  without  a  shot  in  overthrow  complete ; 

And  then  apace  they  gain  the  grace  of  matron,  maid,  and 
man — 

France  then,  as  now,  is  faithful  friend ;  when  was  a 
better  plan  ? 

To  loud  huzzas  our  drummers  drum  and  every  fifer  pipes 
As  down  they  drag  the  British  flag  and  hoist  the  Stars 

and  Stripes. 

Forever  freed  by  Clark's  bold  deed  from  tyrants  over- 
blown 
These  lovely  lands  of   Illinois  become   Virginia's   own. 

WALLACE  RICE. 
By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      81 


.     CORNWALLIS'S  SURRENDER 

[In  the  Spring  of  1781,  Cornwallis  and  his  army,  practically 
driven  from  the  Carolinas  by  Gen.  Nathanael  Greene,  retired  to 
Virginia,  and  in  August  occupied  Yorktown  with  7000  men.  Wash- 
ington, learning  of  the  approach  of  an  effective  French  fleet  under 
Count  De  Grasse  to  Chesapeake  Bay,  swiftly  marched  his^  army 
from  near  New  York,  400  miles  to  Yorktown,  and  with  the 
French  forces  besieged  the  place  from  September  17  till,  on  Octo- 
ber 19,  Cornwallis  surrendered — and  the  War  of  Independence 
was  ended. ,] 

When  British  troops  first  landed  here, 

With  Howe  commander  o'er  them, 
They  thought  they'd  make  us  quake  for  fear, 

And  carry  all  before  them; 
With  thirty  thousand  men  or  more, 

And  she  without  assistance, 
America  must  needs  give  o'er, 

And  make  no  more  resistance. 

But  Washington,  her  glorious  son, 

Of  British  hosts  the  terror, 
Soon,  by  repeated  overthrows, 

Convinc'd  them  of  their  error; 
Let  Princeton,  and  let  Trenton  tell, 

What  gallant  deeds  he's  done,  sir, 
And  Monmouth's  plains  where  hundreds  fell 

And  thousands  more  have  run,  sir. 

Cornwallis,  too,  when  he  approach'd 

Virginia's  old  dominion, 
Thought  he  would  soon  her  conqu'ror  be; 

And  so  was  North's  opinion. 
From  State  to  State  with  rapid  stride, 

His  troops  had  marched  before,  sir, 
Till  quite  elate  with  martial  pride, 

He  thought  all  dangers  o'er,  sir. 


82      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 

But  our  allies,  to  his  surprise, 

The  Chesapeake  had  enter'd ; 
And  now  too  late,  he  curs'd  his  fate, 

And  wish'd  he  ne'er  had  ventured, 
For  Washington  no  sooner  knew 

The  visit  he  had  paid  her, 
Than  to  his  parent  State  he  flew, 

To  crush  the  bold  invader. 

When  he  sat  down  before  the  town, 

His  Lordship  soon  surrendered; 
His  martial  pride  he  laid  aside, 

And  cas'd  the  British  standard ; 
Gods !  how  this  stroke  will  North  provoke, 

And  all  his  thoughts  confuse,  sir! 
And  how  the  Peers  will  hang  their  ears, 

When  first  they  hear  the  news,  sir. 

Be  peace,  the  glorious  end  of  war, 

By  this  event  effected ; 
And  be  the  name  of  Washington 

To  latest  times  respected ; 
Then  let  us  toast  America, 

And  France  in  union  with  her ; 
And  may  Great  Britain  rue  the  day 

Her  hostile  bands  came  hither. 

ANONYMOUS. 

From  "Poems  of  American  History,"  edited  by  Burton  E.  Ste- 


venson. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      83 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON 

This  was  the  man  God  gave  us  when  the  hour 

Proclaimed  the  dawn  of  Liberty  begun ; 

Who  dared  a  deed  and  died  when  it  was  done 

Patient  in  triumph,  temperate  in  power, — 

Not  striving  like  the  Corsican  to  tower 

To  heaven,  nor  like  great  Philip's  greater  son 

To  win  the  world  and  weep  for  worlds  unwon, 

Or  lose  the  star  to  revel  in  the  flower. 

The  lives  that  serve  the  eternal  verities 

Alone  do  mould  mankind.     Pleasure  and  pride 

Sparkle  awhile  and  perish,  as  the  spray 

Smoking  across  the  crests  of  cavernous  seas 

Is  impotent  to  hasten  or  delay 

The  everlasting  surges  of  the  tide. 

JOHN  HALL  INGHAM. 


84      REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE 


THE  BRAVE  AT  HOME 

The  maid  who  binds  her  warrior's  sash, 

With  smile  that  well  her  pain  dissembles, 
The  while  beneath  her  drooping  lash 

One  starry  tear-drop  Tiangs  and  trembles, — 
Though  Heaven  alone  records  the  tear, 

And  fame  shall  never  know  her  story, 
Her  heart  has  shed  a  drop  as  dear 

As  e'er  bedewed  the  field  of  glory. 

The  wife  who  girds  her  husband's  sword, 

'Mid  little  ones  to  weep  or  wonder, 
And  bravely  speaks  the  cheering  word, — 

What  though  her  heart  be  rent  asunder, 
Doomed  nightly,  in  her  dreams,  to  hear 

The  bolts  of  death  around  him  rattle, 
Hath  shed  as  sacred  blood  as  e'er 

Was  poured  upon  the  field  of  battle. 

The  mother  who  conceals  her  grief, 

While  to  her  breast  her  son  she  presses, 
Then  breathes  a  few  brave  words  and  brief, 

Kissing  the  patriot  brow  she  blesses, 
With  no  one  but  her  secret  God 

To  know  the  pain  that  weighs  upon  her, 
Sheds  holy  blood  as  e'er  the  sod 

Received  on  Freedom's  field  of  honor. 

THOMAS  BUCHANAN  READ. 

By  permission  of  the  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company. 


REVOLUTION:  INDEPENDENCE      85 


FREEDOM 

FROM    "ODE  READ  AT  THE   ONE    HUNDREDTH   ANNIVERSARY 
OF  THE   FIGHT  AT   CONCORD  BRIDGE" 

Who  cometh  over  the  hills, 

Her  garments  with  morning  sweet? 
The  dance  of  a  thousand  rills 

Making  music  before  her  feet? 
Her  presence  freshens  the  air ; 

Sunshine  steals  light  from  her  face; 
The  leaden  footstep  of  Care 

Leaps  to  the  tune  of  her  pace. 
Fairness  of  all  that  is  fair, 

Grace  at  the  heart  of  all  grace, 
Sweetener  of  hut  and  of  hall, 

B ringer  of  life  out  of  naught, 
Freedom,  O  fairest  of  all 

The  daughters  of  Time  and  Thought ! 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Miffiin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


Ill 

THE    MORE    PERFECT    UNION 


WHAT  CONSTITUTES  A  STATE 

What  constitutes  a  state? 
Not  high-raised  battlement  or  labored  mound, 

Thick  wall  or  moated  gate; 
Not  cities  proud  with  spires  and  turrets  crowned; 

Not  bays  and  broad-armed  ports, 
Where,  laughing  at  the  storm,  rich  navies  ride ; 

Not  starred  and  spangled  courts, 
Where  low-browed  baseness  wafts  perfume  to  pride, 
No  : — men,  high-minded  men, 
With  powers  as  far  above  dull  brutes  endued 

In  forest,  brake,  or  den, 
As  beasts  excel  cold  rocks  and  brambles  rude, — 

Men  who  their  duties  know, 
But  know  their  rights,  and,  knowing,  dare  maintain, 

Prevent  the  long-aimed  blow, 
And  crush  the  tyrant  while  they  rend  the  chain ; 

These  constitute  a  state ; 
And  sovereign  Law,  that  state's  collected  will, 

O'er  thrones  and  globes  elate 
Sits  empress,  crowning  good,  repressing  ill. 

Smit  by  her  sacred  frown, 
The  fiend,  Dissension,  like  a  vapor  sinks ; 

And  e'en  the  all-dazzling  crown 
Hides  his  faint  rays,  and  at  her  bidding  shrinks. 

SIR  WILLIAM  JONES. 
86 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION       87 


WASHINGTON 

[The  inefficiency  of  the  general  Government  under  the  original 
Confederation  and  throughout  the  Revolution  inspired  the  Conven- 
tion of  1787,  zvhich  formed  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States 
for  "a  more  perfect  union,"  ratified  by  the  people  of  the  States  in 
1788.  The  first  Congress,  in  1789,  unanimously  elected  George 
Washington  the  first  President  of  the  United  States.  He  took  the 
oath  of  office  in  New  York  at  the  corner  of  Wall  and  Nassau 
Streets,  on  April  30,  1789.] 

God  wills  no  man  a  slave.     The  man  most  meek, 
Who  saw  Him  face  to  face  on  Horeb's  peak, 
Had  slain  a  tyrant  for  a  bondman's  wrong, 
And  met  his  Lord  with  sinless  soul  and  strong. 
But  when,  years  after,  overfraught  with  care, 
His  feet  once  trod  doubt's  pathway  to  despair, 
For  that  one  treason  lapse,  the  guiding  hand 
That  led  so  far  now  barred  the  promised  land. 
God  makes  no  man  a  slave,  no  doubter  free; 
Abiding  faith  alone  wins  liberty. 

No  angel  led  our  Chieftain's  steps  aright ; 
No  pilot  cloud  by  day,  no  flame  by  night ; 
No  plague  nor  portent  spake  to  foe  or  friend ; 
No  doubt  assailed  him,  faithful  to  the  end. 

Weaklings  there  were,  as  in  the  tribes  of  old, 
Who  craved  for  fleshpots,  worshiped  calves  of  gold, 
Murmured  that  right  would  harder  be  than  wrong, 
And  freedom's  narrow  road  so  steep  and  long; 
But  he  who  ne'er  on  Sinai's  summit  trod, 
Still  walked  the  highest  heights  and  spake  with  God ; 
Saw  with  anointed  eyes  no  promised  land 
By  petty  bounds  or  pettier  cycles  spanned, 
Its  people  curbed  and  broken  to  the  ring, 
Packed  with  a  caste  and  saddled  with  a  king, — 


88       THE    MORE    PERFECT    UNION 

But  freedom's  heritage  and  training  school, 
Where  men  unruled  should  learn  to  wisely  rule, 
Till  sun  and  moon  should  see  at  Ajalon 
King's  heads  in  dust  and  freemen's  feet  thereon. 

His  work  well  done,  the  leader  stepped  aside, 
Spurning  a  crown  with  more  than  kingly  pride, 
Content  to  wear  the  higher  crown  of  worth, 
While  time  endures,  First  Citizen  of  earth. 

JAMES  JEFFREY  ROCHE. 

By  permission  of,  and  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers,  and  by  courtesy  of 
Arthur  Somers  Roche,  for  the  Author. 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION       89 


MOUNT  VERNON,  THE  HOME  OF 
WASHINGTON1 

[After  two  presidential  terms,  in  1796  Washington  retired  to 
Mount  Vernon.  During  Adams'  administration  commercial  rival- 
ries threatened  war  with  both  England  and  France,  and  Wash- 
ington, though  weary  with  military  and  civil  services,  consented  to 
serve  again  as  Commander-in-Chief  in  case  of  war.  But  on  De- 
cember 14,  1799,  the  wonderful  old  man  died,  after  a  very  brief 
illness  —  hailed  and  mourned  by  his  country  and  the  civilized 
world.] 

There  dwelt  the  Man,  the  flower  of  human  kind, 
Whose  visage  mild  bespoke  his  nobler  mind. 

There  dwelt  the  Soldier,  who  his  sword  ne'er  drew 
But  in  a  righteous  cause,  to  Freedom  true. 

There  dwelt  the  Hero,  who  ne'er  killed  for  fame, 
Yet  gained  more  glory  than  a  Caesar's  name. 

There  dwelt  the  Statesman,  who,  devoid  of  art, 
Gave  soundest  counsels  from  an  upright  heart ; 

And,  O  Columbia,  by  thy  sons  caressed, 
There  dwelt  the  Father  of  the  realms  he  blessed ; 
Who  no  wish  felt  to  make  his  mighty  praise, 
Like  other  chiefs,  the  means  himself  to  raise ; 
But  there  retiring,  breathed  in  pure  renown, 
And  felt  a  grandeur  that  disdained  a  crown. 

WILLIAM  DAY. 

From  Henry  B.  Carrington's  "Beacon  Lights  of  Patriotism," 
Messrs.  Silver,  Burdett  &  Co.,  Publishers. 

1  Written  on  the  back  of  a  picture  at  Mount  Vernon. 


90       THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION 


HAIL,  COLUMBIA 

[Song  written  in  May,  1798,  while  Adams  was  President  (the 
"Chief  of  the  fourth  stanza),  and  sung  at  a  theater  in  Philadel- 
phia. The  country  instantly  accepted  it  as  voicing  popular  feelimi 
toward  the  new  dangers.] 

Hail,  Columbia  !  happy  land  ! 

Hail,  ye  heroes !  heaven-born  band ! 

Who  fought  and  bled  in  Freedom's  cause, 

Who  fought  and  bled  in  Freedom's  cause, 
And  when  the  storm  of  war  was  gone, 
Enjoyed  the  peace  your  valor  won. 

Let  independence  be  our  boast, 

Ever  mindful  what  it  cost ; 

Ever  grateful  for  the  prize, 

Let  its  altar  reach  the  skies. 

Firm,  united,  let  us  be, 
Rallying  round   our  Liberty; 
As  a  band  of  brothers  joined, 
Peace  and  safety  we  shall  find. 

Immortal  patriots !  rise  once  more : 
Defend  your  rights,  defend  your  shore: 
Let  no  rude  foe,  with  impious  hand, 
Let  no  rude  foe,  with  impious  hand, 
Invade  the  shrine  where  sacred  lies 
Of  toil  and  blood  the  well-earned  prize. 
While  offering  peace  sincere  and  just, 
In  Heaven  we  place  a  manly  trust, 
That  truth  and  justice  will  prevail, 
And  ev'ry  scheme  of  bondage  fail. 

Firm,  united,  let  us  be, 
Rallying  round  our  Liberty; 
As  a  band  of  brothers  joined, 
Peace  and  safety  we  shall  find'. 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION       91 

Sound,  sound  the  trump  of  Fame ! 

Let  Washington's  great  name 

Ring  through  the  world  with  loud  applause, 
Ring  through  the  world  with  loud  applause; 

Let  every  clime  to  Freedom  dear, 

Listen  with  a  joyful  ear. 

With  equal  skill,  and  godlike  power, 
He  governs  in  the  fearful  hour 
Of  horrid  war ;  or  guides,  with  ease, 
The  happier  times  of  honest  peace. 

Firm,  united,  let  us  be, 
Rallying  round  our  Liberty; 
As  a  band  of  brothers  joined, 
Peace  and  safety  we  shall  find. 

Behold  the  Chief  who  now  commands, 
Once  more  to  serve  his  country,  stands — 
The  rock  on  which  the  storm  will  beat; 
The  rock  on  which  the  storm  will  beat. 
But,  arm'd  in  virtue  firm  and  true, 
His  hopes  are  fix'd  on  Heav'n  and  you. 
When  hope  was  sinking  in  dismay, 
And  gloom  obscured   Columbia's  day, 
His  steady  mind,  from  changes  free, 
Resolved  on  death  or  liberty. 

Firm,  united,  let  us  be, 
Rallying  round  our  Liberty; 
As  a  band  of  brothers  joined, 
Peace  and  safety  we  shall  find. 

JOSEPH  HOPKINSON. 


92       THE   MORE   PERFECT   UNION 


TRUXTON'S  VICTORY 

[In  1798,  French  diplomatic  discourtesy  and  maritime  aggres- 
sions spurred  Congress  to  vote  an  army  of  10,0(X),  and  to  order 
naval  commanders  to  seize  French  vessels  attacking  or  threaten- 
ing American  ships.  The  navy  splendidly  responded,  and  after  a 
few  brilliant  actions — Truxtoris,  on  February  9,  1799,  being  one — 
the  spirit  and  power  of  the  nation  was  recognised,  their  envoys 
zvere  received,  and  negotiations  dissipated  the  threat  of  war.] 

When  Freedom,  fair  Freedom,  her  banner  display'd, 
Defying  each  foe  whom  her  rights  would  invade, 
Columbia's  brave  sons  swore  those  rights  to  maintain, 
And  o'er  ocean  and  earth  to  establish  her  reign; 

United  they  cry, 

While  that  standard  shall  fly, 

Resolved,  firm,  and  steady, 

We  always  are  ready 
To  fight,  and  to  conquer,  to  conquer  or  die. 

Tho'  Gallia  through  Europe  has  rushed  like  a  flood, 

And  deluged  the  earth  with  an  ocean  of  blood : 

While   by    faction   she's   led,    while    she's   governed   by 

knaves, 
We  court  not  her  smiles,  and  will  ne'er  be  her  slaves ; 

Her  threats  we  defy, 

While  our  standard  shall  fly, 

Resolved,  firm,  and  steady, 

We  always  are  ready 
To  fight,  and  to  conquer,  to  conquer  or  die. 

Tho'  France  with  caprice  dares  our  Statesmen  upbraid, 
A  tribute  demands,  or  sets  bounds  to  our  trade  ; 
From  our  young  rising  Navy  our  thunders  shall  roar, 
And  our  Commerce  extend  to  the  earth's  utmost  shore. 

Our  cannon  we'll  ply, 

While  our  standard  shall  fly; 

Resolved,  firm,  and  steady, 

We  always,  are  ready 
To  fight,  and  to  conquer,  to  conquer  or  die. 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION       93 

To  know  we're  resolved,  let  them  think  on  the  hour, 
When  Truxton,  brave  Truxton  off  Nevis's  shore, 
His  ship  mann'd  for  battle,  the  standard  unfurl'd, 
And  at  the  Insurgente  defiance  he  hurled ; 

And  his  valiant  tars  cry, 

While  our  standards  shall  fly, 

Resolved,   firm,  and  steady, 

We  always  are  ready 
To  fight,  and  to  conquer,  to  conquer  or  die. 

Each  heart  beat  exulting,  inspir'd  by  the  cause; 
They  fought  for  their  country,  their  freedom  and  laws ; 
From  their  cannon  loud  volleys  of  vengeance  they  pour'd, 
And  the  standard  of  France  to  Columbia  was  lower 'd. 

Huzza !  they  now  cry, 

Let  the  Eagle  wave  high ; 

Resolved,  firm,  and  steady, 

We  always  are  ready 
To  fight,  and  to  conquer,  to  conquer  or  die. 

Then  raise  high  the  strain,  pay  the  tribute  that's  due 
To  the  fair  Constellation,  and  all  her  brave  crew ; 
Be  Truxton  revered,  and  his  name  be  enrolled 
'Mongst  the  chiefs  of  the  ocean,  the  heroes  of  old. 

Each  invader  defy, 

While  such  heroes  are  nigh, 

Who  always  are  ready, 

Resolved,  firm,  and  steady 
To  fight,  and  to  conquer,  to  conquer  or  die. 

ANONYMOUS. 

From  "Poems  of  American  History,"  edited  by  Burton  E.  Ste- 
venson. 


94       THE    MORE    PERFECT   UNION 


HOW  WE  BURNED  THE  PHILADELPHIA 

[For  some  years  America  had  been  paying  tribute  to  the  pirates 
of  the  Barbary  Coast  on  the  Mediterranean  for  immunity  to  our 
commerce.  But  in  1803  war  was  declared  on  Tripoli,  and  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1804,  a  squadron  sent  to  enforce  it.  The  pirates  captured 
the  beached  warship  "Philadelphia,"  and  anchored  it  under  the  guns 
of  their  fort.  Lieutenant  Stephen  Decatur  led  a  party  who  slew 
the  crew,  fired  the  ship  and  escaped  without  loss.  The  navy  fiercely 
pursued  the  war  till  Tripoli  yielded,  released  her  prisoners,  and 
gave  up  the  tribute.] 


By  the  beard  of  the  Prophet  the  Bashaw  swore 
He  would  scourge  ^ts  from  the  seas; 

Yankees  should  trouble  his  soul  no  more — 

By  the  Prophet's  beard  the  Bashaw  swore, 
Then  lighted  his  hookah,  and  took  his  ease, 

And  troubled  his  soul  no  more. 

The  moon  was  dim  in  the  western  sky, 

And  a  mist  fell  soft  on  the  sea, 
As  we  slipped  away  from  the  Siren  brig 

And  headed  for  Tripoli. 

Behind  us  the  hulk  of  the  Siren  lay, 

Before  us  the  empty  night ; 
And  when  again  we  looked  behind 

The  Siren  was  gone  from  our  sight. 

Nothing  behind  us,  and  nothing  before, 

Only  the  silence  and  rain, 
As  the  jaws  of  the  sea  took  hold  of  our  bows 

And  cast  us  up  again. 

Through  the  rain  and  the  silence  we  stole  along, 

Cautious  and  stealthy  and  slow, 
For  we  knew  the  waters  were  full  of  those 

Who  might  challenge  the  Mastico. 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION       95 

But  nothing  we  saw  till  we  saw  the  ghost 

Of  the  ship  we  had  come  to  see, 
Her  ghostly  lights  and  her  ghostly  frame 

Rolling  uneasily. 

And  as  we  looked,  the  mist  drew  up 

And  the  moon  threw  off  her  veil, 
And  we  saw  the  ship  in  the  pale  moonlight, 

Ghostly  and  drear  and  pale. 

Then  spoke  Decatur  low  and  said : 

"To  the  bulwarks'  shadow  all ! 
But  the  six  who  wear  the  Tripoli  dress 

Shall  answer  the  sentinel's  call/' 

"What  ship  is  that  ?"  cried  the  sentinel. 

"No  ship,"  was  the  answer  free ; 
"But  only  a  Malta  ketch  in  distress 

Wanting  to  moor  in  your  lee. 

"We  have  lost  our  anchor,  and  wait  for  day 

To  sail  into  Tripoli  town, 
And  the  sea  rolls  fierce  and  high  to-night, 

So  cast  a  cable  down/' 

Then  close  to  the  frigate's  side  we  came, 

Made  fast  to  her  unforbid — 
Six  of  us  bold  in  the  heathen  dress, 

The  rest  of  us  lying  hid. 

But  one  who  saw  us  hiding  there 

"Americano!"   cried. 
Then  straight  we  rose  and  made  a  rush 

Pellmell  up  the   frigate's  side. 

"Less  than  a  hundred  men  were  we, 
And  the  heathen  were  twenty  score; 

But  a  Yankee  sailor  in  those  old  days 
Liked  odds  of  one  to  four. 


96       THE   MORE  PERFECT  UNION 

And  first  we  cleaned  the  quarter-deck, 

And  then  from  stern  to  stem 
We  charged  into  our  enemies 

And  quickly  slaughtered  them. 

All  around  was  the  dreadful  sound 

Of  corpses  striking  the  sea, 
And  the  awful  shrieks  of  dying  men 

In  their  last  agony. 

The  heathen  fought  like  devils  all, 

But  one  by  one  they  fell, 
Swept  from  the  deck  by  our  cutlasses 

To  the  water,  and  so  to  hell. 

Some  we  found  in  the  black  of  the  hold, 

Some  to  the  fo'c's'le  fled, 
But  all  in  vain;  we  sought  them  out 

And  left  them  lying  dead ; 

Till  at  last  no  soul  but  Christian  souls 

Upon  that  ship  was  found ; 
The  twenty  score  were  dead,  and  we, 

The  hundred,  safe  and  sound. 

And,  stumbling  over  the  tangled  dead, 

The  deck  a  crimson  tide, 
We  fired  the  ship  from  keel  to  shrouds 

And  tumbled  over  the  side. 

Then  out  to  sea  we  sailed  once  more 
With  the  world  as  light  as  day, 

And  the  flames  revealed  a  hundred  sail 
Of  the  heathen  there  in  the  bay. 

All  suddenly  the  red  light  paled, 
And  the  rain  rang  out  on  the  sea; 

Then — a  dazzling  flash,  a  deafening  roar, 
Between  us  and  Tripoli! 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION       97 

Then,  nothing  behind  us,  and  nothing  before, 

Only  the  silence  and  rain ; 
And  the  jaws  of  the  sea  took  hold  of  our  bows 

And  cast  us  up  again. 

By  the  beard  of  the  Prophet  the  Bashaw  swore 

He  would  scourge  us  from  the  seas; 
Yankees  should  trouble  his  soul  no  more — 
By  the  Prophet's  beard  the  Bashaw  swore, 

Then  lighted  his  hookah  and  took  his  ease, 
And  troubled  his  soul  no  more. 

BARRETT  EASTMAN. 
By  kind  permission  of  Mr.  Wallace  Rice. 


98       THE   MORE   PERFECT   UNION 


FAREWELL,  PEACE 

[Following  peace  with  England,  commercial  and  financial  disa- 
greements with  her  arose.  The  chief  irritant  zvas  the  "right  of 
search"  demanded  and  exercised  on  our  vessels,  and  the  seizure  of 
men  for  their  navy  claimed  as  British  subjects.  An  embargo  was 
laid  OH  commerce  with  her,  but,  urged  by  the  grozving  popular 
anger  Congress  declared  war  on  England,  June  18,  1812.] 

Farewell,  Peace!  another  crisis 

Calls  us  to  "the  last  appeal," 
Made  when  monarchs  and  their  vices 

Leave  no  argument  but  steel. 
When  injustice  and  oppression 

Dare  avow  the  tyrant's  plea. 
Who  would  recommend  submission? 

Virtue  bids  us  to  be  free. 

History  spreads  her  page  before  us, 

Time  unrolls  his  ample  scroll ; 
Truth  unfolds  them,  to  assure  us, 

States,  united,  ne'er  can  fall. 
See,  in  annals  Greek  and  Roman, 

What  immortal  deeds  we  find; 
When  those  gallant  sons  of  woman 

In  their  country's  cause  combined. 

Sons  of  Freedom!  brave  descendants 

From  a  race  of  heroes  tried, 
To  preserve  our  independence 

Let  all  Europe  be  defied. 
Let  not  all  the  world,  united, 

Rob  us  of  one  sacred  right : 
Every  patriot  heart's  delighted 

In  his  country's  cause  to  fight. 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION       99 

Come  then,  War !  with  hearts  elated 

To  thy  standard  we  will  fly ; 
Every  bosom  animated 

Either  to  live  free  or  die. 
May  the  wretch  that  shrinks   from  duty, 

Or  deserts  the  glorious  strife, 
Never  know  the  smile  of  beauty, 

Nor  the  blessing  of  a  wife. 

ANONYMOUS. 

From  "Poems  of  American  History,"  edited  by  Burton  E.  Ste- 
venson. 


ioo     THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION 


ON  THE  CAPTURE  OF  THE  GUERRIERE 

[The  small  levies  of  the  American  army  did  not  score  greatly 
against  the  better  appointed  invading  British  troops  in  this  war, 
but  the  American  genius  shone  in  many  naval  victories.  One  of 
the  earliest  and  most  famous  was  the  capture  of  the  British  "Guer- 
riere"  on  August  19,  1812,  by  the  frigate  "Constitution"  —  later 
known  as  "Old  Ironsides"] 

Long  the  tyrant  of  our  coast 

Reigned  the  famous  Guerriere: 
Our  little  navy  she  defied, 

Public  ship  and  privateer: 
On  her  sails  in  letters  red, 
To  our  captains  were  displayed 
Words  of  warning,  words  of  dread, 

"All  who  meet  me,  have  a  care! 

I  am  England's  Guerriere." 

On  the  wide,  Atlantic  deep 

(Not  her  equal  for  the  fight) 
The  Constitution,  on  her  way, 

Chanced  to  meet  these  men  of  might; 
On  her  sails  was  nothing  said, 
But  her  waist  the  teeth  displayed 
That  a  deal  of  blood  could  shed, 

Which,  if  she  would  venture  near, 

Would  stain  the  decks  of  the  Guerriere. 

Now  our  gallant  ship  they  met — 

And,  to  struggle  with  John  Bull — 
Who  had  come,  they  little  thought, 

Strangers,  yet,  to  Isaac  Hull : 
Better  soon  to  be  acquainted : 
Isaac  hailed  the  Lord's  anointed — 
While  the  crew  the  cannon  pointed, 

And  the  balls  were  so  directed 

With  a  blaze  so  unexpected ; 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION      101 

Isaac  so  did  maul  and  rake  her 
That  the  decks  of  Captain  Dacre 
Were  in  such  a  woful  pickle 
As  if  death  with  scythe  and  sickle, 

With  his  sling,  or  with  his  shaft 

Had  cut  his  harvest  fore  and  aft. 
Thus,  in  thirty  minutes  ended, 
Mischiefs  that  could  not  be  mended; 
Masts,  and  yards,  and  ship  descended, 

All  to  David  Jones's  locker — 

Such  a  ship  in  such  a  pucker! 

Drink  a  bout  to  the  Constitution! 
She  performed  some  execution, 
Did  some  share  of  retribution 

For  the  insults  of  the  year 

When  she  took  the  Guerriere. 
May  success  again  await  her, 
Let  who  will  again  command  her, 
Bainbridge,  Rodgers,  or  Decatur — 
Nothing  like  her  can  withstand  her, 
With  a  crew  like  that  on  board  her 
Who  so  boldly  called  "to  order" 

One  bold  crew  of  English  sailors, 

Long,  too  long  our  seamen's  jailors, 
Dacre  and  the  Guerriere! 

PHILIP  FRENEAU. 


102      THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION 


OLD  IRONSIDES 

[Verses,  the  popularity  of  which  averted  in  1830  the  proposed 
sale  or  breaking  up  of  the  old  frigate  "Constitution"  then  lying  at 
the  Navy  Yard  in  Charlestown,  Mass.  She  was  repaired,  and  is 
still  in  service  as  a  school  ship  at  Fortress  Monroe,  Va.\ 

Ay,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down ! 

Long  has  it  waved  on  high, 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky ; 
Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout, 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar; — 
The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more. 

Her  deck,  once  red  with  heroes'  blood, 

Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe, 
When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood, 

And  waves  were  white  below, 
No  more  shall  feel  the  victor's  tread ; — 

Or  know  the  conquered  knee ; — 
The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 

The  eagle  of  the  sea ! 

Oh,  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave ; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep, 

And   there   should   be   her   grave ; 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag, 

Set   every  threadbare   sail, 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms, 

The  lightning  and  the  gale ! 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION      103 


DEFEAT  AND  VICTORY 

[One  of  the  American  defeats  was  in  the  capture  of  the  frigate 
"Chesapeake,"  commanded  by  Captain  James  Lawrence,  in  desper- 
ate fight  with  the  British  frigate  "Shannon,"  on  June  1,  1813.  But 
the  spirit  of  the  dying  Lawrence  left  "words  that  burn"  still,  and 
that  have  redeemed  many  a  hopeless  struggle  to  success.] 

Through  the  clangor  of  the  cannon, 

Through  the  combat's  wreck  and  reek, 
Answer  to  th'  overmastering  Shannon 

Thunders  from  the  Chesapeake: 
Gallant  Lawrence,  wounded,  dying, 
Speaks  with  still  unconquered  lip 

Ere  the  bitter  draught  he  drinks: 
Keep  the  Flag  flying! 

Fight  her  till  she  strikes  or  sinks! 
Don't  give  up  the  ship ! 

Still  that  voice  is  sounding  o'er  us, 

So  bold  Perry  heard  it  call ; 
Farragut  has  joined  its  chorus; 

Porter,   Dewey,   Wainwright — all 
Heard  the  voice  of  duty  crying; 

Deathless  word  from  dauntless  lip 
That  our  past  and  future  links : 
Keep  the  Flag^  flying! 

Fight  her  till  she  strikes  or  sinks! 
Don't  give  wp  the  ship! 

WALLACE  RICE. 
By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


io4     THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION 


THE   BATTLE   OF   STONINGTON   ON   THE 
SEABOARD  OF  CONNECTICUT 

[As  during  the  Revolution,  the  British  fleets  kept  up  a  desolat- 
ing blockade,  destroying  coast  tozvns  and  villages.  The  northern 
shore  of  Long  Island  Sound  suffered  grievously,  but  sometimes  the 
local  volunteer  coast  quard  made  plucky  defense,  as  at  Stonington, 
Conn.,  on  August  9-12,  1814.] 

Four  gallant  ships  from  England  came 
Freighted  deep  with  fire  and  flame, 
And  other  things  we  need  not  name, 
To  have  a  dash  at  Stonington. 

Now  safely  moor'd,  their  work  begun ; 
They  thought  to  make  the  Yankees  run, 
And  have  a  mighty  deal  of  fun 
In  stealing  sheep  at  Stonington. 

A  deacon  then  popp'd  up  his  head, 
And  parson  Jones's  sermon  read, 
In  which  the  reverend  doctor  said 
That  they  must  fight  for  Stonington. 

A  townsman  bade  them,  next,  attend 
To  sundry  resolutions  penn'd, 
By  which  they  promised  to  defend 
With  sword  and  gun  old  Stonington. 

The  ships  advancing  different  ways, 
The  Britons  soon  began  to  blaze, 
And  put  th5  old  women  in  amaze, 
Who  fear'd  the  loss  of  Stonington. 

The  Yankees  to  their  fort  repair'd, 
And  made  as  though  they  little  cared 
For  all  that  came — though  very  hard 
The  cannon  play'd  on  Stonington. 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION      105 

The  Ramillies  began  the  attack, 
Despatch  came  forward — bold  and  black — 
And  none  can  tell  what  kept  them  back 
From  setting  fire  to  Stonington. 

The  bombardiers  with  bomb  and  ball, 
Soon  made  a  farmer's  barrack  fall, 
And  did  a  cow-house  sadly  maul 
That  stood  a  mile  from  Stonington. 

They  kill'd  a  goose,  they  kill'd  a  hen, 
Three  hogs  they  wounded  in  a  pen — 
They  dash'd  away,  and  pray  what  then? 
This  was  not  taking  Stonington. 

The  shells  were  thrown,  the  rockets  flew, 
But  not  a  shell,  of  all  they  threw, 
Though  every  house  was  full  in  view, 
Could  burn  a  house  at  Stonington. 

To  have   their  turn  they  thought  but   fair; — 
The  Yankees  brought  two  guns  to  bear, 
And,  sir,  it  would  have  made  you  stare, 
This  smoke  of  smokes  at  Stonington. 

They  bored  Pactolus  through  and  through, 
And  kiird  and  wounded  of  her  crew 
So  many,  that  she  bade  adieu 
T'  the  gallant  boys  of  Stonington. 

The  brig  Despatch  was  hull'd  and  torn — 
So  crippled,  riddled,  so  forlorn, 
No  more  she  cast  an  eye  of  scorn 
On  the  little  fort  at  Stonington. 

The  Ramillies  gave  up  th'  affray, 
And,  with  her  comrades,  sneak'd  away, 
Such  was  the  valor,  on  that  day, 
Of  British  tars  near  Stonington. 


106     THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION 

But  some  assert,  on  certain  grounds 
(Besides  the  damage  and  the  wounds), 
It  cost  the  king  ten  thousand  pounds 
To  have  a  dash  at  Stonington. 

PHILIP  FRENEAU. 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION      107 


PERRY'S  VICTORY 

[Commodore  Oliver  Hazard  Perry  communicated  his  success 
with  a  small  emergency  fleet  against  a  stronger  British  one,  well 
prepared,  on  Lake  Erie,  September  10,  1813,  in  this  concise  dis- 
patch: "We  have  met  the  enemy  and  they  are  ours."} 

We  sailed  to  and  fro  in  Erie's  broad  lake, 
To  find  British  bullies  or  get  into  their  wake, 
When  we  hoisted  our  canvas  with  true  Yankee  speed, 
And  the  brave  Captain  Perry  our  squadron  did  lead. 

We  sailed  through  the  lake,  boys,  in  search  of  the  foe, 

In  the  cause  of  Columbia  our  brav'ry  to  show, 

To  be  equal  in  combat  was  all  our  delight, 

As  we  wished  the  proud  Britons  to  know  we  could  fight. 

And  whether  like  Yeo,  boys,  they'd  taken  affright, 
We  could  see  not,  nor  find  them  by  day  or  by  night ; 
So  cruising  we  went  in  a  glorious  cause, 
In  defence  of  our  rights,  our  freedom,  and  laws, 

At  length  to  our  liking,  six  sails  hove  in  view, 
Huzzah !  says  brave  Perry,  huzzah !  says  his  crew, 
And  then  for  the  chase,  boys,  with  our  brave  little  crew, 
We  fell  in  with  the  bullies  and  gave  them  "burgoo." 

Though  the  force  was  unequal,  determined  to  fight, 
We  brought  them  to  action  before  it  was  night ; 
We  let  loose  our  thunder,  our  bullets  did  fly, 
"Now  give  them  your  shot,  boys,"  our  commander  did 
cry. 

We  gave  them  a  broadside,  our  cannon  to  try, 
"Well  done,"  says  brave  Perry,  "for  quarter  they'll  cry, 
Shot  well  home,  my  brave  boys,  they  shortly  shall  see, 
That  quite  brave  as  they  are,  still  braver  are  we." 


io8     THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION 

Then  we  drew  up  our  squadron,  each  man  full  of  fight, 
And  put  the  proud  Britons  in  a  terrible  plight, 
The  brave  Perry's  movements  will  prove  fully  as  bold, 
As  the  fam'd  Admiral  Nelson's  prowess  of  old. 

The  conflict  was  sharp,  boys,  each  man  to  his  gun, 
For  our  country,  her  glory,  the  vict'ry  was  won, 
So  six  sail  (the  whole  fleet)  was  our  fortune  to  take, 
Here's  a  health  to  brave  Perry,  who  governs  the  Lake. 

ANONYMOUS. 

From    "Poems    of    American    History,"    edited   by    Burton   E. 
Stevenson. 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION      109 

> 

.,,.    THE  STAR-SPANGLED  BANNER 

[The  severest  blow  struck  by  the  British  resulted  in  arousing  the 
nation" to  fight,  and  in  a  great  gain  to  the  country.  On  August  24, 
1814,  they  ascended  Chesapeake  Bay,  marched  to  Washington  and 
burned  the  Capitol,  the  White  House  and  other  buildings.  Thence 
they  went  to  Baltimore  to  join  their  fleet  in  attacking  Fort  Mc- 
Henry,  on  September  12.  Francis  Scott  Key  had  gone  to  the  fleet 
to  arrange  exchange  of  prisoners,  and  was  kept  during  the  night 
bombardment.  Next  morning,  seeing  the  Stars  and  Stripes  " 'still 
there"  over  the  fort,  he  was  inspired  to  write  what  has  become 
Americans  favorite  national  hymnJ\ 

O  say,  can  you  see,  by  the  dawn's  early  light, 

What  so  proudly  we  hailed  at  the  twilight's  last  gleam- 
ing? 
Whose  broad  stripes  and  bright  stars,  through  the  clouds 

of  the  fight, 
O'er    the    ramparts    we    watched    were    so    gallantly 

streaming ! 

And  the  rockets'  red  glare,  the  bombs  bursting  in  air, 
Gave  proof   through  the  night  that   our   flag  was   still 

there : 

O  say,  does  that  star-spangled  banner  yet  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave  ? 

On  the  shore,  dimly  seen  through  the  mists  of  the  deep, 
Where  the  foe's  haughty  host  in  dread  silence  reposes, 

What  is  that  which  the  breeze,  o'er  the  towering  steep, 
As  it  fitfully  blows,  now  conceals,  now  discloses? 

Now  it  catches  the  gleam  of  the  morning's  first  beam, 

In  full  glory  reflected  now  shines  on  the  stream: 
5T  is  the  star-spangled  banner !    O  long  may  it  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave! 

And  where  is  that  band  who  so  vauntingly  swore 
That  the  havoc  of  war  and  the  battle's  confusion 

A  home  and  a  country  should  leave  us  no  more? 

Their   blood    has    washed    out    their    foul    footsteps' 
pollution. 


no     THE   MORE   PERFECT   UNION 

No  refuge  could  save  the  hireling  and  slave 
From  the  terror  of  flight,  or  the  gloom  of  the  grave : 
And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  doth  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave ! 

Oh !  thus  be  it  ever,  when  freemen  shall  stand 

Between  their  loved  homes  and  the  war's  desolation ! 
Blest  with  victory  and  peace,  may  the  heaven-rescued 

land 
Praise  the  Power  that  hath  made  and  preserved  us  a 

nation. 

Then  conquer  we  must,  for  our  cause  it  is  just, 
And  this  be  our  motto :  "In  God  is  our  trust." 

And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  shall  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 

FRANCIS  SCOTT  KEY. 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION      in 


ON    THE   BRITISH    INVASION 

[The  humiliation  of  the  capture  and  burning  of  Washington  in 
1814  stirred  orators,  poets,  legislators  and  the  people  at  large  to 
spirited  activity  for  resistance.] 

From  France,  desponding  and  betray'd, 
From  liberty  in  ruins  laid, 
Exulting  Britain  has   display'd 
Her  flag,  again  to  invade  us. 

Her  myrmidons,  with  murdering  eye, 
Across  the  broad  Atlantic  fly, 
Prepared  again  their  strength  to  try, 
And  strike  our  country's  standard. 

Lord  Wellington's  ten  thousand  slaves, 
And  thrice  ten  thousand,  on  the  waves, 
And  thousands  more  of  brags  and  braves 
Are  under  sail,  and  coming, 

To  burn  our  towns,  to  seize  our  soil, 
To  change  our  laws,  our  country  spoil, 
And  Madison  to  Elba's  isle 
To   send  without  redemption. 

In  Boston  state  they  hope  to  find 
A  Yankee  host  of  kindred  mind, 
To  aid  their  arms,  to  rise  and  bind 
Their  countrymen  in  shackles. 

But  no  such  thing — it  will  not  do — 
At  least,  not  while  a  Jersey  Blue 
Is  to  the  cause  of  freedom  true, 
Or  the  bold  Pennsylvanian. 

A  curse  on  England's  frantic  schemes ! 
Both  mad  and  blind,  her  monarch  dreams 
Of  crowns  and  kingdoms  in  these  climes, 
Where  kings  have  had  their  sentence. 


ii2     THE    MORE    PERFECT   UNION 

Though  Washington  has  left  our  coast, 
Yet  other  Washingtons  we  boast, 
Who  rise,  instructed  by  his  ghost, 
To  punish  all  invaders. 

Go  where  they  will,  where'er  they  land, 
This  pilfering,  plundering,  pirate  band, 
They  Liberty  will  find  at  hand 
To  hurl  them  to  perdition ! 

If  in  Virginia  they  appear, 
Their  fate  is  fix'd,  their  doom  is  near, 
Death  in  their  front,  and  hell  their  rear ; 
So  says  the  gallant  buckskin. 

All  Carolina  is  prepared, 
And  Charleston  doubly  on  her  guard; 
Where,  once,  Sir  Peter  badly  fared, 
So  blasted  by  Fort  Moultrie. 

If  farther  south  they  turn  their  views, 
With  veteran  troops,  or  veteran  crews, 
The  curse  of  Heaven  their  march  pursues, 
To  send  them  all  a-packing. 

The  tallest  mast  that  sails  the  wave, 
The  longest  keel  its  waters  lave, 
Will  bring  them  to  an  early  grave 
On  the  shores  of  Pensacola. 

PHILIP  FRENEAU. 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION      113 


THE  FIGHT  OF  THE  ARMSTRONG  PRIVATEER 

[An  inspiring  tale  of  battle  against  great  odds  and  extraordinary 
coolness  in  defeat  is  that  of  the  privateer  "Armstrong''  Captain 
Samuel  C.  Reid,  Commander,  in  the  harbor  of  Fayal  of  the  Azores, 
September  26,  1814.] 

Tell  the  story  to  your  sons 

Of  the  gallant  days  of  yore, 
When  the  brig  of  seven  guns 

Fought  the  fleet  of  seven  score, 

From  the  set  of  sun  till  morn,  through  the  long  Septem- 
ber night- — 

Ninety  men  against  two  thousand,  and  the  ninety  won 
the  fight 
In  the  harbor  of  Fayal  the  Azore. 

Three  lofty  British  ships  came  a-sailing  to  Fayal : 
One  was  a  line-of-battle  ship,  and  two  were  frigates  tall ; 
Nelson's  valiant  men  of  war,  brave  as  Britons  ever  are, 
Manned  the  guns  they  served  so  well  at  Aboukir  and 

Trafalgar. 

Lord  Dundonald  and  his  fleet  at  Jamaica  far  away 
Waited  eager  for  their  coming,  fretted  sore  at  their  delay. 
There  was  loot  for  British  valor  on  the  Mississippi  coast 
In  the  beauty  and  the  booty  that  the  Creole  cities  boast ; 
There  were  rebel  knaves  to  swing,  there  were  prisoners 

to  bring 
Home  in   fetters  to  old  England  for  the  glory  of  the 

King! 

At  the  setting  of  the  sun  and  the  ebbing  of  the  tide 

Came  the  great  ships  one  by  one,  with  their  portals 
opened  wide, 

And  their  cannon  frowning  down  on  the  castle  and  the 
town 

And  the  privateer  that  lay  close  inside ; 

Came  the  eighteen-gun  Carnation,  and  the  Rota,  forty- 
four, 

And  the  triple-decked  Plantagenet  an  Admiral's  pennon 
bore; 


ii4     THE   MORE   PERFECT   UNION 

And  the  privateer  grew  smaller  as  their  top-masts  towered 

taller, 
And  she  bent  her  springs  and  anchored  by  the  castle  on 

the  shore. 

Spoke  the  noble  Portuguese  to  the  stranger :  "Have  no 
fear ; 

They  are  neutral  waters  these,  and  your  ship  is  sacred 
here 

As  if  fifty  stout  armadas  to  shelter  you  from  harm, 

For  the  honor  of  the  Briton  will  defend  you  from  his 
arm." 

But  the  privateersman  said,  "Well  we  know  the  English- 
men, 

And  their  faith  is  written  red  in  the  Dartmoor  slaughter- 
pen. 

Come  what  fortune  God  may  send,  we  will  fight  them  to 
the  end, 

And  the  mercy  of  the  sharks  may  spare  us  then.'1 

"Seize   the    pirate    where    she   lies !"    cried   the    English 

Admiral : 

"If  the  Portuguese  protect  her,  all  the  worse  for  Portu- 
gal !" 
And  four  launches  at  his  bidding  leaped  impatient  for  the 

fray, 
Speeding    shoreward    where   the   Armstrong,    grim    and 

dark  and  ready,  lay. 
Twice  she  hailed  and  gave  them  warning;  but  the  feeble 

menace  scorning, 
On  they  came  in  splendid   silence,  till  a  cable's  length 

away. 
Then  the  Yankee  pivot   spoke ;   Pico's  thousand   echoes 

woke; 
And  four  baffled,  beaten  launches  drifted  helpless  on  the 

bay. 

Then  the  wrath  of  Lloyd  arose  till  the  lion  roared  again. 
And  he  called  out  all   his   launches  and  he  called   five 
hundred  men; 


THE    MORE    PERFECT   UNION      115 

And  he  gave  the  word  "No  quarter !"  and  he  sent  them 

forth  to  smite. 
Heaven  help  the  foe  before  him  when  the  Briton  comes 

in  might ! 
Heaven  helped  the  little  Armstrong  in  her  hour  of  bitter 

need; 
God  Almighty  nerved  the  heart  and  guided  well  the  arm 

of  Reid. 


Launches  to  port  and  starboard,  launches  forward  and 

aft, 

Fourteen  launches  together  striking  the  little  craft. 
They    hacked    at   the   boarding-nettings,    they    swarmed 

above  the  rail  ; 

But  the  Long  Tom  roared  from  his  pivot  and  the  grape- 
shot  fell  like  hail ; 
Pike  and  pistol  and  cutlass,  and  hearts  that  knew  not 

fear, 

Bulwarks  of  brawn  and  mettle,  guarded  the  privateer. 
And  ever  where  fight  was  fiercest  the  form  of  Reid  was 

seen: 
Ever   where    foes    drew    nearest,   his   quick   sword    fell 

between. 
Once  in  the  deadly  strife 

The  boarder's  leader  pressed 

Forward  of  all  the  rest 
Challenging  life  for  life; 

But  ere  their  blades  had  crossed 

A  dying  sailor  tossed 
His  pistol  to  Reid,  and  cried, 
"Now  riddle  the  lubber's  hide !" 
But  the  privateersman  laughed,   and  flung  the  weapon 

aside, 
And  he  drove  his  blade  to  the  hilt,  and  the  f oeman  gasped 

and  died. 
Then  the  boarders  took  to  their  launches,  laden  with  hurt 

and  dead, 
But  little  with  glory  burdened,  and  out  of  the  battle  fled. 


n6     THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION 

Now  the  tide  was  at   flood  again,   and  the  night  was 

almost  done, 
When  the  sloop-of-war  came  up  with  her  odds  of  two  to 

one, 
And  she  opened  fire;  but  the  Armstrong  answered  her, 

gun  for  gun, 
And  the  gay  Carnation  wilted  in  half  an  hour  of  sun 

Then  the  Armstrong,  looking  seaward,  saw  the  mighty 

seventy-four, 
With  her  triple  tier  of   cannon,  drawing  slowly  to  the 

shore. 
And  the  dauntless  captain  said :  "Take  our  wounded  and 

our  dead, 
Bear  them  tenderly  to  land,  for  the  Armstrong's  days  are 

o'er; 
But  no  foe  shall  tread  her  deck,  and  no  flag  above  it 

wave — 
To  the  ship  that  saved  our  honor  we  will  give  a  shipman's 

grave." 
So  they  did  as  he  commanded,  and  they  bore  their  mates 

to  land 
With  the  figurehead  of  Armstrong  and  the  good  sword  in 

his  hand. 
Then  they  turned  the  Long  Tom  downward,  and  they 

pierced  her  oaken  side, 
And  they  cheered  her,  and  they  blessed  her,  and  they 

sunk  her  in  the  tide. 

Tell  the  story  to  your  sons, 

When  the  haughty  stranger  boasts 
Of  his  mighty  ships  and  guns 
And  the  muster  of  his  hosts, 
How  the  word  of  God  was  witnessed  in  the  gallant  days 

of  yore 

When  the  twenty  fled  from  one  ere  the  rising  of  the  sun, 
In  the  harbor  of  Fayal  the  Azore ! 

JAMES  JEFFREY  ROCHE. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers,  and  by  courtesy  of 
Arthur  Somers  Roche  for  the  Author. 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION      117 


JACKSON  AT  NEW  ORLEANS 

[The  fighting  in  this  second  war  with  England  was  closed  by  An- 
drew Jackson's  victory  at  New  Orleans,  on  January  8,  1815, — his 
little  band  of  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  riflemen  against  7,000  of 
England's  choicest  troops — when,  although -neither  of  the  fighting 
parties  knew  it,  peace  had  already  been  signed  at  Ghent  in  Bel- 
gium by  English  and  American  commissioners.] 

Hear  through  the  morning  drums  and  trumpets  sounding, 
Rumbling  of  cannon,  tramp  of  mighty  armies ; 
Then  the  mist  sunders,  all  the  plain  disclosing 
Scarlet  for  England. 

Batteries  roll  on,  halt,  and  flashing  lightnings 
Search  out  our  earthworks,  silent  and  portentous. 
Fierce  on  our  right  with  crimson  banners  tossing 
Tneir  lines  spring  forward. 

Lanyards  in  hand,  Americans  and  seamen, 
Gunners  from  warships,  Lafitte's  privateersmen, 
Roar  out  our  thunders  till  the  grape  and  shrapnel 
Shriek  through  their  columns. 

Shattered  in  fragments,  thus  their  right  is  riven; 
But  on  our  left  a  deadlier  bolt  is  speeding: 
Wellesley's  Peninsulars,  never  yet  defeated, 
Charge  in  their  valor. 

Closing  their  files,  our  cannon  fire  disdaining, 
Dauntless  they  come  with  victory  on  their  standards ; 
Then  slowly  rise  the  rifles  of  our  marksmen, 
Tennessee  hunters. 

Cradles  of  flame  and  scythes  of  whistling  bullets 
Lay  them  in  windrows,  war's  infernal  harvest. 
High  through  the  onslaught  Tennessee  is  shouting, 
Joying  in  battle. 


n8      THE    MORE    PERFECT   UNION 

Pakenham  falls  there,  Keane  and  his  Highlanders 
Close  from  the  center,  hopeless  in  their  courage ; 
Backward  they  stagger,  dying  and  disabled, 
Gloriously  routed. 

Stilled  are  our  rifles  as  our  cheers  grow  louder: 
War  clouds  sweep  back  in  January  breezes, 
Showing  the  dreadful  proof  of  the  great  triumph 
God  hath  vouchsafed  us. 

That  gallant  war-host,  England's  best  and  bravest, 
Met  by  raw  levies,  scores  against  its  hundreds 
L:es  at  our  feet,  a  thing  for  woman's  weeping, 
Reddening  the  meadows. 

Freed  are  our  States  from  European  tyrants : 
Lift  then  your  voices  for  the  little  army 
Led  by  our  battle-loving  Andrew  Jackson, 
Blest  of  Jehovah. 

WALLACE  RICE. 
By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION      119 


HOME,  SWEET  HOME 

[An  American  actor,  playwright  and  theatrical  manager,  whose 
early  life  was  spent  in  East  Hampton,  Long  Island,  N.  Y.,  wrote 
this  song,  reminiscent  of  youth,  for  his  English  opera,  "Clari,  the 
Maid  of  Milan,"  which  he  produced  at  Covent  Garden  Theater, 
London,  in  May,  1832.] 

'Mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble  there's  no  place  like  home ! 
A  charm  from  the  sky  seems  to  hallow  us  there, 
Which,  seek  through  the  world,  is  ne'er  met  with  else- 
where. 

Home !  home !  sweet,  sweet  home ! 

There's  no  place  like  home ! 

An  exile  from  home,  splendor  dazzles  in  vain ; 

O,  give  me  my  lowly  thatched  cottage  again ! 

The  birds  singing  gayly  that  came  at  my  call ; — 

Give  me  them, — and  the  peace  of  mind  dearer  than  all ! 

How  sweet  'tis  to  sit  'neath  a  fond  father's  smile, 
And  the  cares  of  a  mother  to  soothe  and  beguile ! 
But  give  me,  O  give  me,  the  pleasures  of  home ! 
Let  others  delight  'mid  new  pleasures  to  roam, 

To  thee  I'll  return,  overburdened  with  care ; 
The  heart's  dearest  solace  will  smile  on  me  there ; 
No  more  from  that  cottage  again  will  I  roam; 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home. 

Home  !  home  !  sweet,  sweet  home ! 

There's  no  place  like  home! 

JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE. 


120     THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION 


AMERICA 

[The  author  of  this  song  (1832),  a  clergyman  in  Newton  Cen- 
tre, Mass.,  was  a  member  of  the  famous  Harvard  class  of  1829, 
humorously  celebrated  by  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  (another  of 
them)  in  a  class  reunion  poem  of  1859,  "The  Boys."  He  thus 
sketched  the  song-maker: 

And  there's  a  nice  youngster  of  excellent  pith, — 
Fate  thought  to  conceal  him  by  naming  him  Smith; 
But  he  chanted  a  song  for  the  brave  and  the  free, — 
Just  r-ead  on  his  medal  'My  Country'  (of  Thee'! 

The  air  was  German,  but  has  been  used  for  patriotic  purposes 
by  a  number  of  Teutonic  and  Anglo-Saxon  countries — notably  by 
England  in  Henry  Carey's  "God  Save  Great  George  Our  King"  in 
1740.] 

My  country,  't  is  of  thee, 
Sweet  land  of  liberty, 

Of  thee  I  sing; 
Land  where  my  fathers  died, 
Land  of  the  pilgrims'  pride, 
From  every  mountain-side 

Let  freedom  ring. 

My  native  country,  thee, 
Land  of  the  noble  free, 

Thy  name  I  love ; 
I  love  thy  rocks  and  rills, 
Thy  woods  and  templed  hills ; 
My  heart  with  rapture  thrills 

Like  that  above. 

Let  music  swell  the  breeze, 
And  ring  from  all  the  trees 

Sweet  freedom's  song; 
Let  mortal  tongues  awake, 
Let  all  that  breathe  partake, 
Let  rocks  their  silence  break, — 

The  sound  prolong. 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION      121 

Our  fathers'  God,  to  Thee, 
Author  of  liberty, 

To  Thee  we  sing; 
Long  may  our  land  be  bright 
With  freedom's  holy  light; 
Protect  us  by  Thy  might, 

Great  God,  our  King. 

SAMUEL  FRANCIS  SMITH. 


122      THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION 


THE  MEN  OF  THE  ALAMO 

[In  1835,  settlers  of  the  Mexican  province  of  Texas — mostly 
from  the  United  States — rebelled  against  Mexican  despotism,  de- 
claring Texan  independence.  Fierce  fighting  ensued.  One  of  the 
most  renowned  conflicts  was  at  the  Alamo  (fort  defending  the 
town  of  San  Antonio),  beseiged  in  the  spring  of  1836  fry  several 
thousand  Mexicans,  held  by  150  Americans  under  Colonel  Barrett 
Travis,  reinforced  by  32  more  under  the  famous  border  scout, 
Davy  Crockett.  At  the  loss  of  thousands,  the  Mexicans  carried 
the  fort,  after  every  one  of  the  garrison  was  slain.] 

To  Houston  at  Gonzales  town,  ride,  Ranger,  for  your  life, 
Nor  stop  to  say  good-by  to-day  to  home,  or  child,  or  wife ; 
But  pass  the  word  from  ranch  to  ranch,  to  every  Texan 

sword, 
That  fifty  hundred  Mexicans  have  crossed  the  Nueces 

ford, 

With  Castrillon  and  perjured  Cos,  Sesma  and  Almonte, 
And  Santa  Anna  ravenous  for  vengeance  and  for  prey ! 
They  smite  the  land  with  fire  and  sword ;  the  grass  shall 

never  grow 
Where    northward    sweeps    that    locust    horde    on    San 

Antonio ! 

Now  who  will  bar  the  foeman's  path,  to  gain  a  breathing 

space, 
Till  Houston  and  his  scattered  men  shall  meet  him  face 

to  face? 
Who  holds  his  life  as  less  than  naught  when  home  and 

honor  call, 

And  counts  the  guerdon  full  and  fair  for  liberty  to  fall  ? 
Oh,  who  but  Barrett  Travis,  the  bravest  of  them  all ! 
With  sevenscore  of  riflemen  to  play  the  rancher's  game, 
And    feed    a   counter-fire   to   halt   the    sweeping   prairie 

flame; 

For  Bowie  of  the  broken  blade  is  there  to  cheer  them  on, 
With  Evans  of  Concepcion,  who  conquered  Castrillon, 
And  o'er  their  heads  the  Lone  Star  flag  defiant  floats  on 

high, 
And  no  man  thinks  of  yielding,  and  no  man  fears  to  die. 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION      123 

But  ere  the  siege  is  held  a  week  a  cry  is  heard  without, 
A  clash  of  arms,  a  rifle  peal,  the  Ranger's  ringing  shout, 
And  two-and-thirty  beardless  boys  have  bravely  hewed 

their  way 

To  die  with  Travis  if  they  must,  to  conquer  if  they  may. 
Was  ever  valor  held  so  cheap  in  Glory's  mart  before 
In  all  the  days  of  chivalry,  in  all  the  deeds  of  war  ? 
But  once  again  the  f oemen  gave  in  wonderment  and  fear 
To  see  a  stranger  break  their  lines  and  hear  the  Texans 

cheer. 
God !  how  they  cheered  to  welcome  him,  those  spent  and 

starving  men ! 

For  Davy  Crockett  by  their  side  was  worth  an  army  then. 
The  wounded  ones  forgot  their  wounds ;  the  dying  drew 

a  breath 
To  hail  the  king  of  border  men,  then  turned  to  laugh  at 

death. 

For  all  knew  Davy  Crockett,  blithe  and  generous  as  bold, 
And  strong  and  rugged  as  the  quartz  that  hides  its  heart 

of  gold. 

His  simple  creed  for  word  or  deed  true  as  the  bullet  sped, 
And  rung  the  target  straight :  "Be  sure  you're  right,  then 

go  ahead  !" 

And  were  they  right  who  fought  the  fight  for  Texas  by 

his  side? 
They  questioned  not ;  they  faltered  not ;  they  only  fought 

and  died. 
Who  hath  an  enemy  like  these,  God's  mercy  slay  him 

straight  !— 

A  thousand  Mexicans  lay  dead  outside  the  convent  gate, 
And  half  a  thousand  more  must  die  before  the  fortress 

falls, 
And  still  the  tide  of  war  beats  high  around  the  leaguered 

walls. 
At  last  the  bloody  breach  is  won ;  the  weakened  lines  give 

way; 
The  wolves  are  swarming  in  the  court ;  the  lions  stand  at 

bay. 


i24     THE    MORE   PERFECT    UNION 

The  leader  meets  them  at  the  breach,  and  wins  the  sol- 
dier's prize ; 
A    foeman's    bosom    sheathes    his    sword    when    gallant 

Travis  dies. 

Now  let  the  victor  feast  at  will  until  his  crest  be  red — 
We  may  not  know  what  raptures  fill  the  vulture  with  the 

dead. 
Let  Santa  Anna's  valiant  sword  right  bravely  hew  and 

hack 
The  senseless  corse;  its  hands  are  cold;  they  will  not 

strike  him  back. 
Let  Bowie  die,  but  'ware  the  hand  that  wields  his  deadly 

knife ; 
Four  went  to  slay,  and  one  comes  back,  so  dear  he  sells 

his  life. 

And  last  of  all  let  Crockett  fall,  too  proud  to  sue  for  grace, 
So  grand  in  death  the  butcher  dared  not  look  upon  his 

face. 

But  far  on  San  Jacinto's  field  the  Texan  toils  are  set, 
And  Alamo's  dread  memory  the  Texan  steel  shall  whet. 
And  Fame  shall  tell  their  deeds  who  fell  till  all  the  years 

be  run. 

"Thermopylae  left  one  alive — the  Alamo  left  none/' 

JAMES  JEFFREY  ROCHE. 

From  "Ballads  of  Blue  Water,"  by  permission  of  the  Pilot  Pub- 
lishing Company,  Boston,  and  by  courtesy  of  Arthur  Somers 
Roche,  for  the  Author. 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION      125 


JOHN  CHARLES  FREMONT 

[/»  1842,  Captain  John  Charles  Fremont — son-in-law  of  Sena- 
tor  Benton  of  St.  Louis,  Missouri — proposed  surveying  the  terri- 
tory west  of  the  Rocky  Mountains;  and  from  then  until  1858  made 
five  remarkable  expeditions  to  California  and  Oregon,  surveying 
transcontinental  routes.  In  1845-6,  during  the  Mexican  War,  lie 
practically  conquered  California  (a  Mexican  province)  for  the 
United  States.  After  the  gold  discovery  the  plains  were  alive  with 
men  and  families  bound  for  the  golden  coast.  In  1850  Fremont,  as 
Senator  from  California,  headed  the  "Free  Soilers"  who  brought 
the  State  into  the  Union  free  from  slavery.} 

Pathfinder — and  Path-clincher ! 

Who  blazed  the  way,  indeed, 
But  more — who  made  the  eternal  Fact 

Whereto  a  path  had  need; 
Who,  while  our  Websters  set  at  naught 

The  thing  that  Was  to  Be, 
Whipped-out  our  halting,   half-way  map 

Full  to  the  Other  Sea ! 

'T  was  well  that  there  were  some  could  read 

The  logic  of  the  West! 
A  Kansas-edged  geography, 

Of  provinces  confessed, 
Became  potential  Union 

And  took  a  Nation's  span 
When  God  sent  Opportunity 

And  Benton  found  the  Man ! 

CHARLES  F.  LUMMIS. 
By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


126      THE    MORE    PERFECT   UNION 


COLUMBIA,  THE  GEM  OF  THE  OCEAN 

[Much  discussion  seems  to  show  that  this  popular  song  was^  writ- 
ten and  the  tune  composed  by  Thomas  a'  Becket,  a  musician  of 
English  birth  in  Philadelphia,  and  first  sung  (like  "Hail  Columbia' 
in  a  theater  there}  by  David  T.  Shaw  in  1843.] 

O  Columbia,  the  gem  of  the  ocean, 

The  home  of  the  brave  and  the  free, 
The  shrine  of  each  patriot's  devotion, 

A  world  offers  homage  to  thee. 
Thy  mandates  make  heroes  assemble, 

When  Liberty's  form  stands  in  view ; 
Thy  banners  make  tyranny  tremble, 

When  borne  by  the  red,  white  and  blue ; 
When  borne  by  the  red,  white  and  blue, 
When  borne  by  the  red,  white  and  blue, 
Thy  banners  make  tyranny  tremble, 
When  borne  by  the  red,  white  and  blue. 

When  war  winged  its  wide  desolation, 
And  threatened  the  land  to  deform, 
The  ark  then  of  freedom's  foundation, 
Columbia,  rode  safe  thro'  the  storm : 
With  the  garlands  of  vict'ry  around  her, 

When  so  proudly  she  bore  her  brave  crew, 
With  her  flag  proudly  floating  before  her, 
The  boast  of  the  red,  white  and  blue, 
The  boast  of  the  red,  white  and  blue, 
The  boast  of  the  red,  white  and  blue, 
With  her  flag  proudly  floating  before  her, 
The  boast  of  the  red,  white  and  blue. 

The  star-spangled  banner  bring  hither, 
O'er  Columbia's  true  sons  let  it  wave; 

May  the  wreaths  they  have  won  never  wither, 
Nor  its  stars  cease  to  shine  on  the  brave : 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION      127 

May  the  service,  united,  ne'er  sever, 

But  hold  to  their  colors  so  true; 
The  army  and  navy  forever, 

Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue ; 
Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue, 
Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue, 
The  army  and  navy  forever, 
Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue. 

THOMAS  A'  BECKET. 


128     THE   MORE   PERFECT   UNION 


THE  EMPIRE  SHIP 

I  have  sung  my  songs  to  the  stately  ships  that  are  sailing 

the  Seven  Seas, 
But  today  I  sing  of  a  ruder  craft  that  laughed  at  the 

lulling  breeze, — 
Of  the  "Prairie  Schooner,"  quaint  and  slow,  with  its  dim 

and  dusky  sails, 

A  phantom  ship  from  the  long  ago,  adrift  in  the  grass- 
grown  trails. 

Westward  ho !     Westward  ho ! 
Out  where  the  winds  are  sweet  and  low 
And  the  grassy  cradles  swing  and  sway, 
The  star  of  empire  takes  its  way, 
Westward  ho ! 

Ere  the  bellowing  steed  of  steel  and  steam  had  startled 

the  timid  deer, 
Where  the  curlew  whistled  its  plaintive  call  to  the  gray 

grouse  nesting  near, 
Through  the  fair,  fresh  prairies,  hushed  and  hid,  where 

the  wild  wolf  made  her  den, 

There    came    this    land-launched    schooner,    manned    by 
bronzed  and  brawny  men. 

Westward  ho  !     Westward  ho ! 
Out  where  the  bold,  brisk  breezes  blow, 
And  a  young  world  walks  in  the  fields  of  May, 
The  star  of  empire  takes  its  way, 
Westward  ho! 

And  in  that  marvelous  ship  that  sailed  to  the  shores  of 

the  wondrous  West, 
Was  a  mother  who  caroled  a  song  of  joy  to  the  babe  at 

her  happy  breast ; 
And  stowed  away  in  the  good  ship's  hold  were  a  book 

and  plow  and  pen, 
And  a  sickle  and  seeds — yea,  all  God  needs  for  the  making 

of  matchless  men. 


*THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION      129 

Westward  ho  !     Westward  ho  ! 

Out  where  the  golden  harvests  glow 
And  the  builders  are  building  day  by  day, 
The  star  of  empire  takes  its  way, 
Westward  ho! 

NIXON  WATERMAN. 

By  permission  of  the  Publishers,  Messrs.  Forbes  &  Company, 
Chicago. 


130     THE   MORE   PERFECT   UNION . 


THE  EXODUS  FOR  OREGON 

A  tale  half  told  and  hardly  understood; 

The  talk  of  bearded  men  that  chanced  to  meet, 

That  leaned  on  long  quaint  rifles  in  the  wood, 

That  looked  in  fellow  faces,  spoke  discreet   , 

And  low,  as  half  in  doubt  and  in  defeat 

Of  hope ;  a  tale  it  was  of  lands  of  gold 

That  lay  below  the  sun.     Wild-winged  and  fleet 

It  spread  among  the  swift  Missouri's  bold 

Unbridled  men,  and  reached  to  where  Ohio  rolled. 

Then  long  chained  lines  of  yoked  and  patient  steers : 
Then  long  white  trains  that  pointed  to  the  west, 
Beyond  the  savage  west;  the  hopes  and  fears 
Of  blunt,  untutored  men,  who  hardly  guessed 
Their  course ;  the  brave  and  silent  women,  dressed 
In  homely  spun  attire,  the  boys  in  bands, 
The  cheery  babes  that  laughed  at  all,  and  blessed 
The  doubting  hearts,  with  laughing,  lifted  hands ! 
What  exodus  for  far  untraversed  lands ! 

The  Plains  !     The  shouting  drivers  at  the  wheel ; 

The  crash  of  leather  whips ;  the  crush  and  roll 

Of  wheels ;  the  groan  of  yokes  and  grinding  steel 

And  iron  chain,  and  lo !  at  last  the  whole 

Vast  line,  that  reached  as  if  to  touch  the  goal, 

Began  to  stretch  and  stream  away  and  wind 

Toward  the  West,  as  if  with  one  control ; 

Then  hope  loomed  fair,  and  home  lay  far  behind ; 

Before,  the  boundless  plain,  and  fiercest  of  their  kind. 

At  first  the  way  lay  green  and  fresh  as  seas, 

And  far  away  as  any  reach  of  wave; 

The  sunny  streams  went  by  in  belt  of  trees ; 

And  here  and  there  the  tassel'd  tawny  brave 

Swept  by  on  horse,  looked  back,  stretched  forth  and  gave 

A  yell  of  warn,  and  then  did  wheel  and  rein 

Awhile,  and  point  away,  dark-browed  and  grave 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION      131 

Into  the  far  and  dim  and  distant  plain 

With  signs  and  prophecies,  and  then  plunged  on  again. 

Some  hills  at  last  began  to  lift  and  break; 

Some  streams  began  to  fail  of  wood  and  tide, 

The  somber  plain  began  betime  to  take 

A  hue  of  weary  brown,  and  wild  and  wide 

It  stretched  its  naked  breast  on  every  side. 

A  babe  was  heard  at  last  to  cry  for  bread 

Amid  the  deserts;  cattle  lowed  and  died, 

And  dying  men  went  by  with  broken  tread, 

And  left  a  long  black  serpent  line  of  wreck  and  dead. 

Strange  hungered  birds,  black-winged  and  still  as  death, 

And  crowned  of  red  with  hooked  beaks,  blew  low 

And  close  about,  till  we  could  touch  their  breath — 

Strange  unnamed  birds,  that  seemed  to  come  and  go 

In  circles  now,  and  now  direct  and  slow, 

Continual,  yet  never  touch  the  earth ; 

Slim  foxes  slid  and  shuttled  to  and  fro 

At  times  across  the  dusty  weary  dearth 

Of  life,  looked  back,  then  sank  like  crickets  in  a  hearth. 

Then  dust  arose,  a  long  dim  line  like  smoke 

From  out  of  riven  earth.     The  wheels  went  groaning  by, 

Ten  thousand  feet  in  harness  and  in  yoke, 

They  tore  the  ways  of  ashen  alkali 

And  desert  winds  blew  sudden,  swift  and  dry. 

The  dust !  it  sat  upon  and  filled  the  train ! 

It  seemed  to  fret  and  fill  the  very  sky. 

Lo !  dust  upon  the  beasts,  the  tent,  the  plain, 

And  dust,  alas !  on  breasts  that  rose  not  up  again. 

They  sat  in  desolation  and  in  dust 

By  dried-up  desert  streams ;  the  mother's  hands 

Hid  all  her  bended  face ;  the  cattle  thrust 

Their  tongues  and  faintly  called  across  the  lands. 

The  babes,  that  knew  not  what  this  way  through  sand 

Could  mean,  did  ask  if  it  would  end  today. 

The  panting  wolves  slid  by,  red-eyed,  in  bands 

To  pools  beyond.     The  men  looked  far  away, 

And,  silent,  saw  that  all  a  boundless  desert  lay. 


132     THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION 

They  rose  by  night;  they  struggled  on  and  on 
As  thin  and  still  as  ghosts;  then  here  and  there 
Beside  the  dusty  way  before  the  dawn, 
Men  silent  laid  them  down  in  their  despair 
And  died.     But  woman  !     Woman,  frail  as  fair ! 
May  man  have  strength  to  give  to  you  your  due ; 
You  faltered  not,  nor  murmured  anywhere, 
You  held  your  babes,  held  to  your  course,  and  you 
Bore  on  through  burning  hell  your  double  burdens  through. 

Men  stood  at  last,  the  decimated  few, 
Above  a  land  of  running  streams,  and  they? 
They  pushed  aside  the  boughs,  and  peering  through 
Beheld  afar  the  cool  refreshing  bay; 
Then  some  did  curse,  and  some  bend  hands  to  pray ; 
But  some  looked  back  upon  the  desert,  wide 
And  desolate  with  death,  then  all  the  day 
They  mourned.     But  one,  with  nothing  left  beside 
His  dog  to  love,  crept  down  among  the  ferns  and  died. 

JOAQUIN  MILLER. 

From  Joaquin  Miller's  Poems  (Bear  Edition),  Vol.  II.  Copy- 
right, 1909,  by  C.  H.  Miller.  Published  by  Harr  Wagner  Publish- 
ing Company,  San  Francisco.  Used  by  permission  of  the  pub- 
lishers. 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION      133 


THE  PRESENT  CRISIS 

[In  May,  1836,  Mexico  recognised  the  independence  of  Texas, 
and  that  new  republic  applied  for  admission  to  the  United  States,. 
For  years  discussion  raged — the  North  fearing  the  proposition, 
both  as  conferring  new  strength  on  slavery  and  as  sure  to  breed 
war  with  Mexico,  the  South  of  course  favoring  it.  Among  the 
eloquent  opponents  of  it  was  the  poet  Lowell,  who  wrote  the  fol- 
lowing in  December  f  1844.] 

When  a  deed  is  done  for  Freedom,  through  the  broad 

earth's  aching  breast 
Runs  a  thrill  of  joy  prophetic,  trembling  on  from  east  to 

west, 
And  the  slave,  where'er  he  cowers,  feels  the  soul  within 

him  climb 

To  the  awful  verge  of  manhood,  as  the  energy  sublime 
Of  a  century  bursts  full-blossomed  on  the  thorny  stem 

of  Time. 

Once  to  every  man  and  nation  comes  the  moment  to 

decide, 
In  the  strife  of  Truth  with  Falsehood,  for  the  good  or 

evil  side; 
Some  great  cause,  God's  new  Messiah,  offering  each  the 

bloom  or  blight, 
Parts  the  goats  upon  the  left  hand,  and  the  sheep  upon 

the  right. 
And  the  choice  goes  by  forever  'twixt  that  darkness  and 

that  light. 

Hast  thou  chosen,^p  my  people,  on  whose  party  thou 

shalt  stand, 
Ere  the  Doom  from  its  worn  sandals  shakes  the  dust 

against  our  land? 
Though  the  cause  of  Evil  prosper,  yet  'tis  Truth  alone  is 

strong, 
And,  albeit  she  wander  outcast  now,  I  see  around  her 

throng 
Troops  of  beautiful,  tall  angels,  to  enshield  her  from  all 

wrong. 


134     THE    MORE    PERFECT   UNION 

Backward  look  across  the  ages  and  the  beacon-moments 

see, 
That   like  peaks   of    some    sunk   continent,   jut  through 

Oblivion's  sea; 
Not  an  ear  in  court  or  market  for  the  low,  foreboding 

cry 
Of  those  Crises,  God's  stern  winnowers,  from  whose  feet 

earth's  chaff  must  fly; 
Never  shows  the  choice  momentous  till  the  judgment  hath 

passed  by. 

Careless  seems  the  great  Avenger;  history's  pages  but 

record 
One  death-grapple  in  the  darkness  'twixt  old  systems  and 

the  Word ; 
Truth  forever  on  the  scaffold,  Wrong  forever  on  the 

throne, — 
Yet  that  scaffold  sways  the  future,  and,  behind  the  dim 

unknown, 
Standeth  God  within  the  shadow,  keeping  watch  above 

His  own. 

We  see  dimly  in  the  Present  what  is  small  and  what  is 
great, 

Slow  of  faith,  how  weak  an  arm  may  turn  the  iron  helm 
of  fate, 

But  the  soul  is  still  oracular;  amid  the  market's  din, 

List  the  ominous  stern  whisper  from  the  Delphic  cave 
within, — 

"They  enslave  their  children's  children  who  make  com- 
promise with  sin." 

Slavery,  the  earth-born  Cyclops,  fellest  of  the  giant 
brood, 

Sons  of  brutish  Force  and  Darkness,  who  have  drenched 
the  earth  with  blood, 

Famished  in  his  self-made  desert,  blinded  by  our  purer 
day, 

Gropes  in  yet  unblasted  regions  for  his  miserable  prey ; — 

Shall  we  guide  his  gory  fingers  where  our  helpless  chil- 
dren play? 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION      135 

Then  to  side  with  Truth  is  noble  when  we  share   her 

wretched  crust, 
Ere  her  cause  bring  fame  and  profit  and  'tis  prosperous 

to  be  just; 
Then  it  is  the  brave  man  chooses,  while  the  coward  stands 

aside, 

Doubting  in  his  abject  spirit,  till  his  Lord  is  crucified, 
And  the  multitude  make  virtue  of  the   faith  they  had 

denied. 

New  occasions  teach  new  duties;  Time  makes  ancient 
good  uncouth; 

They  must  upward  still,  and  onward,  who  would  keep 
abreast  of  Truth ; 

Lo,  before  us  gleam  her  camp-fires !  we  ourselves  must 
Pilgrims  be, 

Launch  our  Mayflower,  and  steer  boldly  through  the  des- 
perate winter  sea, 

Nor  attempt  the  Future's  portal  with  the  Past's  blood- 
rusted  key. 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

By    permission    of,    and    special    arrangement    with,    Houghton 
Mifflin   Company,   the   authorized    Publishers. 


136     THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION 


SONG  OF  TEXAS 

[As  foreseen,  the  admission  of  Texas  to  the  Union,  on  Decem- 
ber- 29,  1845,  was  promptly  followed  by  war  with  Mexico.  This 
was  bitterly  opposed,  especially  by  New  England,  but  patriotism 
overcame  discussion,  and  the  country  at  large  sprang  to  arms,  the 
armies  being  largely  volunteers.] 

Make  room  on  our  banner  bright 

That  flaps  in  the  lifting  gale, 
For  the  orb  that  lit  the  fight 

In  Jacinto's  storied  vale. 
Through  clouds,  all  dark  of  hue, 

It  arose  with  radiant  face; 
Oh,  grant  to  a  sister  true, 

Ye  stars,  in  your  train  a  place ! 

The  blood  of  the  Saxon  flows 

In  the  veins  of  men  who  cry, — 
"Give  ear,  give  ear  unto  those 

Who  pine  for  their  native  sky ! 
We  call  on  our  Motherland 

For  a  home  in  Freedom's  hall, — 
While  stretching  forth  the  hand, 

Oh,  build  no  dividing  wall ! 

"The  Mexican  vaunteth  no  more ; 

In  strife  we  have  tamed  his  pride ; 
The  coward  raps  not  at  your  door, 

Speak  out !  shall  it  open  wide  ? 
Oh,  the  wish  of  our  hearts  is  strong, 

That  the  star  of  Jacinto's  fight 
Have  place  in  the  flashing  throng 

That  spangle  your  banner  bright/' 

WILLIAM  HENRY  CUYLER  HOSMER. 

Reprinted  by  permission  of  the  Publishers,  Stewart  &  Kidd  Com- 
pany, Cincinnati. 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION     137 


TO  ARMS 

Awake!  arise,  ye  men  of  might! 

The  glorious  hour  is  nigh, — 
Your  eagle  pauses  in  his  flight, 

And  screams  his  battle-cry. 

From  North  to  South,  from  East  to  West: 

Send  back  an  answering  cheer, 
And  say  farewell  to  peace  and  rest, 

And  banish  doubt  and  fear. 

Arm!  arm!  your  country  bids  you  arm! 

Fling  out  your  banners  free — 
Let  drum  and  trumpet  sound  alarm, 

O'er  mountains,  plain,  and  sea. 

March  onward  from  th'  Atlantic  shore, 

To  Rio  Grande's  tide — 
Fight  as  your  fathers  fought  of  yore ! 

Die  as  your  fathers  died! 

Go !  vindicate  your  country's  fame, 

Avenge  your  country's  wrong! 
The  sons  should  own  a  deathless  name, 

To  whom  such  sires  belong. 

The  kindred  of  the  noble  dead 

As  noble  deeds  should  dare : 
The  fields  whereon  their  blood  was   shed 

A  deeper  stain  must  bear. 

To  arms !  to  arms !  ye  men  of  might ; 

Away  from  home,  away! 
The  first  and  foremost  in  the  fight 
Are  sure  to  win  the  day ! 

PARK  BENJAMIN. 
By  kind  permission  of  Mr.  Park  Benjamin,  Jr. 


138     THE   MORE   PERFECT   UNION 

HOSEA  BIGLOW  ON  WAR  FOR  SLAVERY 
[June,  1846] 

Thrash  away,  you'll  hev  to  rattle 

On  them  kittle-drums  o'  yourn, — 
'Taint  a  knowin'  kind  o'  cattle 

Thet  is  ketched  with  mouldy  corn; 
Put  in  stiff,  you  fifer  feller, 

Let  folks  see  how  spry  you  be, — 
Guess  you'll  toot  till  you  are  yeller 

'Fore  you  git  ahold  o'  me ! 

Thet  air  flag's  a  leetle  rotten, 

Hope  it  aint  your  Sunday's  best; — 
Fact !  it  takes  a  sight  o'  cotton 

To  stuff  out  a  soger's  chest : 
Sence  we  farmers  hev  to  pay  fer  't, 

Ef  you  must  wear  humps  like  these, 
S'posin'  you  should  try  salt  hay  fer  't, 

It  would  du  ez  slick  ez  grease. 

'Twouldn't  suit  them  Southun  fellers, 

They're  a  dreffle  graspin'  set, 
We  must  oilers  blow  the  bellers 

Wen  they  want  their  irons  het; 
May  be  it's  all  right  ez  preachin', 

But  my  nerves  it  kind  o'  grates, 
When  I  see  the  overreachin' 

O'  them  nigger-drivin'  States. 

Them  thet  rule  us,  them  slave-traders, 

Haint  they  cut  a  thunderin'  swarth 
(Helped  by  Yankee  renegaders), 

Thru  the  vartu  o'  the  North ! 
We  begin  to  think  it's  nater 

To  take  sarse  an'  not  be  riled ; — 
Who'd  expect  to  see  a  tater 

All  on  eend  at  bein'  biled? 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION      139 

Ez  fer  war,  I  call  it  murder, — 

There  you  hev  it  plain  an'  flat ; 
I  don't  want  to  go  no  furder 

Than  my  Testyment  fer  that ; 
God  hez  sed  so  plump  an'  fairly, 

It's  ez  long  ez  it  is  broad, 
An'  you've  gut  to  git  up  airly 

Ef  you  want  to  take  in  God. 

'Taint  your  eppyletts  an'  feathers 

Make  the  thing  a  grain  more  right; 
'Taint  afollerin'  your  bell-wethers 

Will  excuse  ye  in  His  sight; 
Ef  you  take  a  sword  an'  dror  it, 

An'  go  stick  a  feller  thru, 
Guv'ment  ain't  to  answer  for  it, 

God'll  send  the  bill  to  you. 

Wut's  the  use  o'  meetin'-goin' 

Every  Sabbath,  wet  or  dry, 
Ef  it's  right  to  go  amowin' 

Feller-men  like  oats  an'  rye? 
I  dunno  but  what  it's  pooty 

Trainin'  round  in  bobtail  coats, — 
But  it's  curus  Christian  dooty 

This  'ere  cuttin'  folks's  throats. 

They  may  talk  o'  Freedom's  airy 

Tell  they're  pupple  in  the  face, — 
It's  a  grand  gret  cemetary 

Fer  the  barthrights  of  our  race; 
They  jest  want  this  Calif orny 

So's  to  lug  new  slave-states  in 
To  abuse  ye,  an'  to  scorn  ye, 

An'  to  plunder  ye  like  sin. 

Ain't  it  cute  to  see  a  Yankee 

Take  such  everlastin'  pains, 
All  to  get  the  Devil's  thankee 

Helpin'  on  'em  weld  their  chains? 


140     THE   MORE   PERFECT   UNION 

Wy,  it's  jest  ez  clear  ez  figgers, 

Clear  ez  one  an'  one  make  two, 
Chaps  thet  make  black  slaves  o'  niggers 

Want  to  make  wite  slaves  oj  you. 
•         •••••••* 

Wai,  go  'long  to  help  'em  stealin' 

Bigger  pens  to  cram  with  slaves, 
Help  the  men  thet's  oilers  dealin' 

Insults  on  your  fathers'  graves ; 
Help  the  strong  to  grind  the  feeble, 

Help  the  many  agin  the  few, 
Help  the  men  thet  call  your  people 

Whitewashed  slaves   an'   peddlin'   crew! 

Massachusetts,  God  forgive  her, 

She's  akneelin'  with  the  rest, 
She,  thet  ough'  to  ha'  clung  ferever 

In  her  grand  old  eagle-nest; 
She  thet  ough'  to  stand  so  fearless 

Wile  the  wracks  are  round  her  hurled, 
Holdin'  up  a  beacon  peerless 

To  the  oppressed  of  all  the  world ! 

Ef  I'd  my  way  I  hed  ruther 

We  should  go  to  work  an'  part, 
They  take  one  way,  we  take  t'other, 

Guess  it  wouldn't  break  my  heart; 
Man  hed  ough'  to  put  asunder 

Them  thet  God  has  noways  jined; 
An'  I  shouldn't  gretly  wonder 

Ef  there's  thousands  o'  my  mind. 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

By    permission    of,    and    special    arrangement    with,    Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION      141 

THE  BIVOUAC  OF  THE  DEAD 

[On  the  battle  of  Buena  Vista,  February  22-23,  1847.] 

The  muffled  drum's  sad  roll  has  beat 

The  soldier's  last  tattoo; 
No  more  on  Life's  parade  shall  meet 

That  brave  and  fallen  few. 
On  Fame's  eternal  camping-ground 

Their  silent  tents  are  spread, 
And  Glory  guards,  with  solemn  round, 

The  bivouac  of  the  dead. 

No  rumor  of  the  foe's  advance 

Now  swells  upon  the  wind; 
No  troubled  thought  at  midnight  haunts 

Of  loved  ones  left  behind ; 
No  vision  of  the  morrow's  strife 

The  warrior's  dream  alarms ; 
No  braying  horn  nor  screaming  fife 

At  dawn  shall  call  to  arms. 

Their  shivered  swords  are  red  with  rust ; 

Their  plumed  heads  are  bowed ; 
Their  haughty  banner,  trailed  in  dust, 

Is  now  their  martial  shroud. 
And  plenteous  funeral  tears  have  washed 

The  red  stains  from  each  brow, 
And  the  proud  forms,  by  battle  gashed, 

Are  free  from  anguish  now. 

The  neighing  troop,  the  flashing  blade, 

The  bugle's  stirring  blast, 
The  charge,  the  dreadful  cannonade, 

The  din  and  shout  are  past  ; 
Nor  war's  wild  note,  nor  glory's  peal, 

Shall  thrill  with  fierce  delight 
Those  breasts  that  nevermore  may  feel 

The  rapture  of  the  fight. 


i42      THE    MORE    PERFECT   UNION 

Like  the  fierce  northern  hurricane 

That  sweeps  his  great  plateau, 
Flushed  with  the  triumph  yet  to  gain, 

Came  down  the  serried  foe. 
Who  heard  the  thunder  of  the  fray 

Break  o'er  the  field  beneath, 
Knew  well  the  watchword  of  that  day 

Was  "Victory  or  Death." 

Long  had  the  doubtful  conflict  raged 

O'er  all  that  stricken  plain, 
For  never  fiercer  fight  had  waged 

The  vengeful  blood  of  Spain; 
And  still  the  storm  of  battle  blew, 

Still  swelled  the  gory  tide ; 
Not  long  our  stout  old  chieftain  knew 

Such  odds  his  strength  could  bide. 

'Twas  in  that  hour  his  stern  command 

Called  to  a  martyr's  grave 
The  flower  of  his  beloved  land, 

The  nation's  flag  to  save. 
By  rivers  of  their  fathers'  gore 

His  first-born  laurels  grew, 
And  well  he  deemed  the  sons  would  pour 

Their  lives  for  glory  too. 

Full  many  a  norther's  breath  has  swept, 

O'er  Angostura's  plain — 
And  long  the  pitying  sky  has  wept 

Above  its  mouldered  slain. 
The  raven's  scream  or  eagle's  flight 

Or  shepherd's  pensive  lay. 
Alone  awakes  each  sullen  height 

That  frowned  o'er  that  dread  fray. 

Sons  of  the  Dark  and  Bloody  ground, 

Ye  must  not  slumber  there, 
Where  stranger  steps  and  tongues  resound 

Along  the  heedless  air. 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION      143 

Your  own  proud  land's  heroic  soil 

Shall  be  your  fitter  grave ; 
She  claims  from  war  his  richest  spoil — 

The  ashes  of  her  brave. 

Thus  'neath  their  parent  turf  they  rest, 

Far  from  the  gory  field, 
Borne  to  a  Spartan  mother's  breast 

On  many  a  bloody  shield; 
The  sunshine  of  their  native  sky 

Smiles  sadly  on  them  here, 
And  kindred  eyes  and  hearts  watch  by 

The  heroes'  sepulcher. 

Rest  on,  enbalmed  and  sainted  dead ! 

Dear  as  the  blood  ye  gave, 
No  impious  footstep  here  shall  tread 

The  herbage  of  your  grave; 
Nor  shall  your  story  be  forgot, 

While  Fame  her  record  keeps, 
Or  Honor  points  the  hallowed  spot 

Where  Valor  proudly  sleeps. 

Yon  marble  minstrel's  voiceless  stone 

In  deathless  song  shall  tell 
When  many  a  vanished  age  hath  flown, 

The  story  how  ye  fell ; 
Nor  wreck,  nor  change,  nor  winter's  blight, 

Nor  Time's  remorseless  doom, 
Shall  dim  one  ray  of  glory's  light 

That  gilds  your  deathless  tomb. 

THEODORE  O'HARA. 


i44     THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION 


THE  VOLUNTEERS 

[The  war  ^vas  bitterly  contested,  but  brief.  Generals  Zachary 
Taylor  and  Winfield  Scott  won  great  laurels  (and  Taylor  the 
Presidency  in  the  next  election},  while  the  land  resounded  ivith 
the  praises  of  the  volunteer  armies — peace  being  declared  on  Feb- 
ruary 2,  1848.] 

The  Volunteers!  the  Volunteers! 
I  dream,  as  in  the  by-gone  years, 
I  hear  again  their  stirring  cheers, 

And  see  their  banners  shine, 
What  time  the  yet  unconquered  North 
Pours  to  the  wars  her  legions  forth, 
For  many  a  wrong  to  strike  a  blow 
With  mailed  hand  at  Mexico. 

The  Volunteers !   Ah,  where  are  they 
Who  bade  the  hostile  surges  stay, 
When  the  black  forts  of  Monterey 
Frowned  on  their  dauntless  line? 
When,  undismayed  amid  the  shock 
Of  war,  like  Cerro  Gordo's  rocks, 
They  stood,  or  rushed  more  madly  on 
Than  tropic  tempest  o'er  San  Juan? 

On  Angostura's  crowded  field 

Their  shattered  columns  scorned  to  yield, 

And  wildly  yet  defiance  pealed 

Their  flashing  batteries'  throats ; 
And  echoed  then  the  rifle's  crack, 
As  deadly  as  when  on  the  track 
Of  flying  foe,'  of  yore,  its  voice 
Bade  Orleans'  dark-eyed  girls  rejoice. 

Blent  with  the  roar  of  guns  and  bombs 
How  grandly  from  the  dim  past  comes 
The  roll  of  their  victorious  drums, 
Their  bugle's  joyous  notes, 


THE    MORE    PERFECT   UNION      145 

When  over  Mexico's  proud  towers, 
And  the  fair  valley's  storied  bowers, 
Fit  recompense  of  toil  and  scars, 
In  triumph  waved  their  flag  of  stars. 

Ah,  comrades,  of  your  own  tried  troop, 
Whose  honor  ne'er  to  shame  might  stoop, 
Of  lion  heart  and  eagle  swoop, 

But  you  alone  remain ; 
On  all  the  rest  has  fallen  the  hush 
Of  death ;  the  men  whose  battle-rush 
Was  wild  as  sun-loosed  torrent's  flow 
From  Orizaba's  crest  of  snow. 

The  Volunteers !  the  Volunteers ! 

God  send  us  peace  through  all  our  years, 

But  if  the  cloud  of  war  appears, 

We'll  see  them  once  again. 
From  broad  Ohio's  peaceful  side, 
From  where  the  Maumee  pours  its  tide, 
From  storm-lashed  Erie's  wintry  shore, 
Shall  spring  the  Volunteers  once  more. 

WILLIAM  HAYNES  LYTLE. 

Reprinted  by  permission  of  the  Publishers,  Stewart  &  Kidd  Com- 
pany, Cincinnati. 


146     THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION 


THE  KANSAS  EMIGRANTS 

[Agitation  as  to  Slavery  or  Freedom  continued  till  January  29, 
1860,  when  Kansas  was  admitted,  Free,  by  popular  vote.] 

We  cross  the  prairie  as  of  old 

The  pilgrims  crossed  the  sea, 
To  make  the  West,  as  they  the  East, 

The  homestead  of  the  free ! 

We  go  to  rear  a  wall  of  men 

On  Freedom's  southern  line, 
And  plant  beside  the  cotton-tree 

The  rugged  Northern  pine! 

We're  flowing  from  our  native  hills 

As  our  free  rivers  flow : 
The  blessing  of  our  Mother-land 

Is  on  us  as  we  go. 

We  go  to  plant  her  common  schools 

On  distant  prairie  swells, 
And  give  the  Sabbaths  of  the  wild 

The  music  of  her  bells. 

Upbearing,  like  the  Ark  of  old, 

The  Bible  in  our  van, 
We  go  to  test  the  truth  of  God 

Against  the  fraud  of  man. 

No  pause,  nor  rest,  save  where  the  streams 

That  feed  the  Kansas  run, 
Save  where  our  Pilgrim  gonfalon 

Shall  flout  the  setting  sun! 

We'll  tread  the  prairie  as  of  old 

Our  fathers  sailed  the  sea, 
And  make  the  West,  as  they  the  East, 

The  homestead  of  the  free ! 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER, 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION      147 


THE  EVE  OF  ELECTION 

[October,  1858,  while  political  issues  were  becoming  more  sharply 
defined,  and  the  friends  of  freedom  were  hoping  to  restrict  the 
slave  power  through  the  ballot.] 

From  gold   to  gray 

Our  mild  sweet  day 
Of  Indian  summer  fades  too  soon ; 

But  tenderly 

Above  the  sea 
Hangs,  white  and  calm,  the  hunter's  moon. 

In  its  pale  fire, 

The  village  spire 
Shows  like  the  zodiac's  spectral  lance; 

The  painted  walls 

Whereon  it  falls 
Transfigured  stand  in  marble  trance! 

O'er  fallen  leaves 

The  west-wind  grieves, 
Yet  comes  a  seed-time  round  again; 

And  morn  shall  see 

The  State  sown  free 
With  baleful  tares  or  healthful  grain. 

Along  the  street 

The  shadows  meet 
Of  Destiny,  whose  hands  conceal 

The  moulds  of  fate 

That  shape  the  State, 
And  make  or  mar  the  common  weal. 

Around  I  see 

The  powers  that  be ; 
I  stand  by  Empire's  primal  springs ; 

And  princes  meet 

In  every  street, 
And  hear  the  tread  of  uncrowned  kings ! 


148      THE    MORE    PERFECT   UNION 

Hark !  through  the  crowd 

The  laugh  runs  loud, 
Beneath  the  sad,  rebuking  moon. 

God  save  the  land, 

A  careless  hand 
May  shake  or  swerve  ere  morrow's  noon! 


Shame  from  our  hearts 

Unworthy  arts, 
The  fraud  designed,  the  purpose  dark ; 

And  smite  away 

The  hands  we  lay 
Profanely  on  the  sacred  ark. 

To  party  claims 

And  private  aims, 
Reveal  that  august  face  of  Truth, 

Whereto  are  given 

The  age  of  heaven, 
The  beauty  of  immortal  youth. 

So  shall  our  voice 

Of  sovereign  choice 
Swell  the  deep  bass  of  duty  done, 

And  strike  the  key 

Of  time  to  be, 
When  God  and  man  shall  speak  as  one! 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

By    permission    of,    and    special    arrangement    with,    Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION      149 


BLOOD  IS  THICKER  THAN  WATER 

[On  June  25,  1859,  when  Commodore  Josiah  Tatnall  was  Amer- 
ican naval  officer  on  the  coast  of  China,  England  and  France  were 
at  war  with  that  country.  The  English  fleet,  seeking  passage  to 
Pekin  up  the  Pei-Ho  River,  had  to  leave  their  heavy  vessels  out- 
side the  bar.  So  did  Tatnall,  whose  flagship  was  hauled  off  the 
bar  by  English  boats.  Both  commanders  ascended  the  river  in 
small  gun-boats.  The  shore  batteries  attacked  the  English;  ^  Tat- 
nall went  with  boats'  crezvs  to  help  the  English — "for"  said  he, 
blood  is  thicker  than  water!"] 

Ebbed  and  flowed  the   muddy   Pei-Ho  by  the  Gulf   of 

Pechi-Li, 

Near  its  waters  swung  the  yellow  dragon-flag ; 
Past  the  batteries  of  China,  looking  westward  we  could 

see 

Lazy  junks  along  the  lazy  river  lag; 
Villagers  in  near-by  Ta-Kou  toiled  beneath  their  humble 

star, 

On  the  flats  the  ugly  mud- fort  lay  and  dreamed ; 
While  the  Powhatan  swung  slowly  at  her  station  by  the 

bar, 
While  the  Toey-Wan  with  Tattnall  onward  steamed. 

Lazy  East  and  lazy  river,  fort  of  mud  in  lazy  June, 

English  gunboats  through  the  waters  slowly  fare, 
With  the  dragon-flag  scarce  moving  in  the  lazy  afternoon 

O'er  the  mud-heap  storing  venom  in  the  glare. 
We  were  on  our  way  to  Pekin,  to  the  Son  of  Heaven's 
throne, 

White  with  peace  was  all  our  mission  to  his  court ; 
Peaceful,  too,  the  English  vessels  on  the  turbid  waters 
strown, 

Seeking  passage  up  to  Pekin  past  the  fort. 

By  the  bar  lay  half  the  English,  while  the  rest  with  gal- 
lant Hope 

Wrestled  with  the  slipping  ebb-tide  up  the  stream; 
They  had  cleared  the  Chinese  irons,  reached  the  doubled 

chain  and  rope 
Where  the  ugly  mud-fort  scowled  upon  their  beam ; — 


150     THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION 

Crash !  the  heavens  split  asunder  with  the  thunder  of  the 

fight 

As  the  hateful  dragon  made  its  faith  a  mock ; 
Every  cannon  spat  its  perfidy,  each  casemate  blazed  its 

spite, 
Dashing  down  upon  the  English,  shock  on  shock. 

In  his  courage  Rason  perished,  bold  McKenna  fought 

and  fell, 

Scores  were  dying  as  they'd  lived,  like  valiant  men ; 
And  the  meteor  flag  that  upward  prayed  to  Heaven  from 

that  hell 

Wept  below  for  those  who  ne'er  should  weep  again. 
Far  away  the  English  launches  near  the  Pozvhatan  swung 

slow, 

All  despairing,  useless,  out  of  reach  of  war, 
Saw  their  comrades  in  the  battle,  saw  them  reel  beneath 

the  blow, 
Lying  helpless  'gainst  the  ebb-tide  by  the  bar. 

On  the  Toey-Wan  stood  Tattnall,  Stephen  Trenchard  at 

his  side, — 

"Old  Man  Tattnall/'  he  who  dared  at  Vera  Cruz,— 
Saw  here,  crippled  by  the  cannon,  saw  there,  throttled 

by  the  tide, 

Men  of  English  blood  and  speech :  Could  he  refuse  ? 
"I'll  be  damned,"  says  he  to  Trenchard,  "if  'Old'  Tatt- 

nall's  standing  by 

Seeing  white  men  butchered  here  by  such  a  foe ! 
Where's  my  barge?     No  side-arms,  mind  you!     See  the 

English  fight  and  die! 
Blood  is  thicker,  sir,  than  water.     Let  us  go!" 

Quick  we  man  the  barge,  and  quicker  plunge  into  that 

devil's-brew — 

"An  official  call,"  and  Tattnall  went  in  state : 
Trenchard's  hurt,  our  flag  in  ribbons,  and  the  lunging 

boat  shot  through, 
Hart,  our  coxswain,  dies  beneath  the  Chinese  hate; 


THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION      151 

But  the  cheers  those  English  give  us  as  we  gain  their 

Admiral's  ship 

Make  the  shattered  barge  and  weary  arms  seem  light — 
Then  the  rare  smile  from  "Old"  Tattnall  and  Hope's 

hearty  word  and  grip, 
Bleeding  though  he  was,  and  brave  in  hell's  despite. 

Tattnall  nods  and  we  go  forward,  find  a  gun  no  longer 

fought — 

What  is  peace  to  us,  when  all  its  crew  lie  dead? 
One  bright  English  lad  brings  powder  and  a  wounded 

man  brings  shot, 

And  we  scotch  that  Chinese  dragon,  tail  and  head. 
Hands  are  shaken,  faith  is  plighted,  sounds  our  captain's 

cheery  call ; 

In  a  borrowed  boat  we  speed  us  fast  and  far, 
And  the  Toey-Wan  and  Tattnall  down  the  ebb-tide  slide 

and  fall 
To  the  launches  lying  moaning  by  the  bar. 

Eager  for  an  English  vengeance,  battle  light  on  every 

face, 

See,  the  Clustered  Stars  lead  on  the  Triple  Cross ! 
Cheering,  swinging  into  action,  valiant  Hope  takes  heart 

of  grace 

From  the  cannons'  cloudy  roar,  the  lanyards'  toss. 
How    they    fought,    those    fighting    English !    how    they 

cheered  the  Toey-Wan, 
Cheered  our  sailors,  cheered  "Old"  Tattnall,  grim  and 

gray! 
And  their  cheers  ring  down  the  ages  as  they  rang  beneath 

the  sun 
O'er  those  bubbling,  troubled  waters  far  away. 

Ebbs    and   flows    the    muddy    Pei-Ho   by    the    Gulf    of 

Pechi-Li, 

Idly  floats  beside  the  stream  the  dragon-flag; 
Past  the  batteries  of  China,  looking  westward  still  you 

see 
Lazy  junks  along  the  lazy  river  lag. 


152      THE    MORE   PERFECT   UNION 

Let  the  long,  long  years  drop  slowly  on  that  lost  and 

ancient  land, 

Ever  dear  one  scene  to  hearts  of  gallant  men : 
There's  a  hand-clasp  and  a  heart-throb,  there  's  a  word 

we  understand — 
"Blood  is  thicker,  sir,  than  water/'  now  as  then. 

WALLACE  RICE. 
By  kind  permission  of  the  Author, 


THE   MORE   PERFECT  UNION      153 

GLORY  HALLELUJAH!  OR  JOHN  BROWN'S 
BODY 

[Foremost  fighters  against  the  Kansas  Pro-Slavery  men  were 
John  Brown  and  his  sons,  who  had  suffered  much  from  them. 
"Free  Kansas"  was  not  enough  for  Brown,  and  on  October  19, 
1859,  he  undertook  a  negro  uprising  in  Virginia,  and  with  a  small 
force  captured  Harper's  Ferry  on  the  Potomac  in  that  State.  He 
was  promptly  overcome,  imprisoned,  tried,  and  hanged  for  "trea- 
son and  murder''  A  sincere  fanatic,  he  was  cursed  by  the  South; 
and,  although  not  justified  by  the  North,  between  the  ensuing  pas- 
sions of  Secession  and  Loyalty  he  became  a  traditional  hero,  and 
his  name  in  a  crude  song  was  a  rallying  cry  for  millions  of  march- 
ing Union  men.] 

John  Brown's  body  lies  a-mould'ring  in  the  grave, 
John  Brown's  body  lies  a-mould'ring  in  the  grave, 
John  Brown's  body  lies  a-mould'ring  in  the  grave, 
His  soul  is  marching  on ! 

Chorus — Glory!  Glory  Hallelujah! 
Glory!  Glory  Hallelujah! 
Glory!  Glory  Hallelujah! 
His  soul  is  marching  on. 

He's  gone  to  be ,  a  soldier  in  the  army  of  the  Lord ! 
His  soul  is  marching  on. 

John  Brown's  knapsack  is  strapped  upon  his  back. 
His  soul  is  marching  on. 

His  pet  lambs  will  meet  him  on  the  way, 
And   they'll   go   marching  on. 

They'll  hang  Jeff  Davis  on  a  sour  apple  tree, 
As  they  go  marching  on. 

Now  for  the  Union  let's  give  three  rousing  cheers, 
As  we  go  marching  on. 

Hip,  hip,  hip,  hip,  Hurrah! 

CHARLES  S  PRAGUE  HALL. 


IV 

SECESSION   OR   UNION   PRESERVED? 


THE  UNION 
FROM  "THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  SHIP" 

Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  State ! 

Sail  on,  O  Union,  strong  and  great! 

Humanity  with  all  its  fears, 

With  all  the  hopes  of  future  years, 

Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate ! 

We  know  what  Master  laid  thy  keel, 

What  Workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel, 

Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope, 

What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat, 

In  what  a  forge  and  what  a  heat 

Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope! 

Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock, 

'T  is  of  the  wave  and  not  the  rock; 

'T  is  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail, 

And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale! 

In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest's  roar, 

In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore, 

Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea ! 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee, 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears, 

Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears, 

Are  all  with  thee, — are  all  with  thee ! 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized   Publishers. 

154 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     155 

THE    PEOPLE'S    MAN 
FROM  "ABRAHAM  LINCOLN" 

[During  the  years  of  political  strife  Anti-Slavery  sentiment  grew 
rapidly  in  the  North.  In  1856  opponents  of  Democratic  policies 
organised  the  Republican  party,  based  on  keeping  slavery  out  of 
new  territories.  Their  first  presidential  candidate  was  Colonel 
John  C.  Fremont,  the  famous  explorer,  who  was  defeated  by  James 
Buchanan,  Democrat.  In  1860,  however,  the  Republicans  elected 
Abraham  Lincoln.} 

Cool    should   he  be,   of   balanced   powers, 
The  ruler  of  a  race  like  ours, 

Impatient,  headstrong,  wild; 

The  man  to  guide  the  Child. 

And  this  he  was,  who  most  unfit 
(So  hard  the  sense  of  God  to  hit,) 

Did  seem  to  fit  his  place 

With  such  a  homely  face. 

Such  rustic  manners,  speech  uncouth, 
(That  somehow  blundered  out  the  truth), 

Untried,  untrained  to  bear 

The  more  than  kingly  care. 

Ah !  and  his  genius  put  to  scorn 
The  proudest  in  the  purple  born, 

Whose  wisdom  never  grew 

To  what,  untaught,  he  knew, 

The  People,  of  whom  he  was  one; 
No  gentleman,  like  Washington, 

(Whose  bones,  methinks,  make  room 
To  have  him  in  their  tomb!) 

A  laboring  man,  with  horny  hands, 
Who  swung  the  axe,  who  tilled  his  lands, 

Who  shrank  from  nothing  new, 

But  did  as  poor  men  do. 


156     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

One  of  the  People !  Born  to  be 
Their  curious  epitome; 

To  share,  yet  rise  above 

Their  shifting  hate  and  love. 

Common  his  mind  (it  seemed  so  then), 
His  thoughts  the  thoughts  of  other  men: 

Plain  were  his  words,  and  poor, 

But  now  they  will  endure! 

No  hasty  fool,  of  stubborn  will, 
But  prudent,  cautious,  pliant  still; 

Who  since  his  work  was  good 

Would  do  it  as  he  could. 

Doubting,  was  not  ashamed  to  doubt, 
And,  lacking  prescience,  went  without ; 

Often  appeared  to  halt, 

And  was,  of  course,  at  fault. 

Heard  all  opinions,  nothing  loath, 
And,  loving  both  sides,  angered  both : 

Was — not  like  Justice,  blind, 

But  watchful,  clement,  kind. 

No  hero  this  of  Roman  mould 
Nor  like  our  stately  sires  of  old : 

Perhaps  he  was  not  great, 

But  he  preserved  the  State ! 

RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD. 

By  permission   of  the   Publishers,   Messrs.    Charles    Scribner's 
Sons. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     157 


BROTHER  JONATHAN'S  LAMENT  FOR  SISTER 
CAROLINE 

[Leading  Southerners  in  Washington — Cabinet  members,  Sena- 
tors,, Congressmen,  etc. — concerted  prompt  action  if  Lincoln  should 
be  elected  President  in  November,  1860.  Headed  by  Senator  Jef- 
ferson Davis,  all  promptly  resigned;  December  20,  South  Caro- 
lina formally  seceded,  seising  Government  forts,  arsenals,  etc.,  in 
Charleston;  other  States  followed  her  example;  February  4,  1861, 
a  Confederate  Congress  met  and  elected  Jefferson  Davis  President 
of  their  Confederacy,  and  in  his  inaugural  he  gently  said,  "All  we 
ask  is  to  be  let  alone/'  At  first  the  North  replied  with  words.] 

She  has  gone, — she  has  left  us  in  passion  and  pride, — 
Our  stormy-browed  sister,  so  long  at  our  side ! 
She  has  torn  her  own  star  from  our  firmament's  glow, 
And  turned  on  her  brother  the  face  of  a  foe ! 

O  Caroline,  Caroline,  child  of  the  sun, 
We  can  never  forget  that  our  hearts  have  been  one, — 
Our  foreheads  both  sprinkled  in  Liberty's  name, 
From  the  fountain  of  blood  with  the  finger  of  flame! 

You  were  always  too  ready  to  fire  at  a  touch ; 

But  we  said :  "She  is  hasty, — she  does  not  mean  much." 

We    have    scowled    when   you    uttered    some    turbulent 

threat  ; 
But  Friendship  still  whispered :  "Forgive  and  forget." 

Has  our  love  all  died  out?  Have  its  altars  grown  cold? 
Has  the  curse  come  at  last  which  the  fathers  foretold? 
Then  Nature  must  teach  us  the  strength  of  the  chain 
That  her  petulant  children  would  sever  in  vain. 

They  may  fight  till  the  buzzards  are  gorged  with  their 

spoil, — 

Till  the  harvest  grows  black  as  it  rots  in  the  soil, 
Till   the   wolves   and  the  catamounts  troop   from   their 

caves, 
And  the  shark  tracks  the  pirate,  the  lord  of  the  waves : 


158     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

In  vain  is  the  strife !  When  its  fury  is  past, 
Their  fortunes  must  flow  in  one  channel  at  last, 
As  the  torrents  that  rush  from  the  mountains  of  snow 
Roll  mingled  in  peace  through  the  valleys  below. 

Our  Union  is  river,  lake,  ocean,  and  sky ; 
Man  breaks  not  the  medal  when  God  cuts  the  die ! 
Though  darkened  with  sulphur,  though  cloven  with  steel, 
The  blue  arch  will  brighten,  the  waters  will  heal ! 

O  Caroline,  Caroline,  child  of  the  sun, 
There  are  battles  with  fate  that  can  never  be  won ! 
The  star-flowering  banner  must  never  be  furled, 
For  its  blossoms  of  light  are  the  hope  of  the  world ! 

Go,  then,  our  rash  sister,  afar  and  aloof, — 

Run  wild  in  the  sunshine  away  from  our  roof ; 

But  when  your  heart  aches  and  your  feet  have  grown 

sore, 
Remember  the  pathway  that  leads  to  our  door ! 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     159 


THE    OLD    COVE 

[Jefferson's  Davis' s  pathetic  appeal— *"  All  we  isk  is  to  be  let 
alone/'] 

As  vonce  I  valked  by  a  dismal  svamp, 

There  sot  an  Old  Cove  in  the  dark  and  damp, 

And  at  everybody  as  passed  that  road 

A  stick  or  a  stone  this  Old  Cove  throwed. 

And  venever  he  flung  his  stick  or  his  stone, 

He'd  set  up  a  song  of  "Let  me  alone/' 

"Let  me  alone,  for  I  loves  to  shy 

These  bits  of  things  at  the  passers-by — 

Let  me  alone,  for  I've  got  your  tin 

And  lots  of  other  traps  snugly  in; — 

Let  me  alone,  I'm  riggin'  a  boat 

To  grab  votever  you've  got  afloat ; — 

In  a  veek  or  so  I  expects  to  come 

And  turn  you  out  of  your  'ouse  and  'ome ; — 

I'm  a  quiet  Old  Cove,"  says  he,  with  a  groan : 

"All  I  axes  is — Let  me  alone." 

Just  then  came  along  on  the  self-same  vay, 

Another  Old  Cove,  and  began  for  to  say — 

"Let  you  alone !  That's  comin'  it  strong ! — 

You've  ben  let  alone  a  darned  sight  too  long ; — 

Of  all  the  sarce  that  ever  I  heerd ! 

Put  down  that  stick!  (You  may  well  look  skeered.) 

Let  go  that  stone !  If  you  once  show  fight, 

I'll  knock  you  higher  than  ary  kite. 

You  must  hev  a  lesson  to  stop  your  tricks, 

And  cure  you  of  shying  them  stones  and  sticks, — 

And  I'll  hev  my  hardware  back  and  my  cash, 

And  knock  your  scow  into  tarnal  smash, 

And  if  ever  I  catches  you  round  my  ranch, 

I'll  string  you  up  to  the  nearest  branch, 


160     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

"The  best  you  can  do  is  to  go  to  bed, 
And  keep  a  decent  tongue  in  your  head ; 
For  I  reckon,  before  you  and  I  are  done, 
You'll  wish  you  had  left  honest  folks  alone." 
The  Old  Cove  stopped,  and  t'other  Old  Cove 
He  sot  quite  still  in  his  cypress  grove, 
And  he  looked  at  his  stick  revolvin'  slow 
Whether  Jt  were  safe  to  shy  it  or  no, — 
And  he  grumbled  on,  in  an  injured  tone, 
"All  that  I  axed  vos,  let  me  done!' 

HENRY  HOWARD  BROWNELL. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     161 


SUMTER 

[On  April  12,  1861,  a  Southern  army  of  thousands,  in  Charles- 
ton, beseiged  the  United  States  Fort  Sumter,  with  a  little  garrison 
commanded  by  Major  Robert  Anderson,  who,  on  the  14th,  ammu- 
nition exhausted  by  their  gallant  fight,  surrendered  and  marched 
out  with  their  colors.  The  South  was  wild  with  joy.  But  the  Flag 
of  the  Union  had  been  attacked,  and  the  people  of  the  North  were 
aflame.  War  was  on!] 

Came  the  morning  of  that  day 
When  the  God  to  whom  we  pray 
Gave  the  soul  of  Henry  Clay 

To  the  land; 

How  we  loved  him,  living,  dying! 
But  his  birthday  banners  flying 
Saw  us  asking  and  replying 

Hand  to  hand. 

For  we  knew  that  far  away, 
Round  the  fort  in  Charleston  Bay, 
Hung  the  dark  impending  fray, 

Soon  to  fall; 

And  that  Sumter's  brave  defender 
Had  the  summons  to  surrender 
Seventy  loyal  hearts  and  tender — 

(Those  were  all!) 

And  we  knew  the  April  sun 
Lit  the  length  of  many  a  gun — 
Hosts  of  batteries  to  the  one 

Island  crag; 

Guns  and  mortars  grimly  frowning, 
Johnson,  Moultrie,  Pinckney,  crowning, 
And  ten  thousand  men  disowning 

The  old  flag. 


162     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

Oh,  the  fury  of  the  fight 

Even  then  was  at  its  height ! 

Yet  no  breath,  from  noon  till  night, 

Reached  us  here ; 

We  had  almost  ceased  to  wonder, 
And  the  day  had  faded  under, 
When  the  echo  of  the  thunder 

Filled  each  ear ! 

Then  our  hearts  more  fiercely  beat, 
As  we  crowded  on  the  street, 
Hot  to  gather  and  repeat 

All  the  tale ; 

All  the  doubtful  chances  turning, 
Till  our  souls  with  shame  were  burning, 
As  if  twice  our  bitter  yearning 

Could  avail ! 

Who  had  fired  the  earliest  gun? 
Was  the  fort  by  traitors  won? 
Was  there  succor  ?  What  was  done 

Who  could  know? 

And  once  more  our  thoughts  would  wander 
To  the  gallant,  lone  commander, 
On  his  battered  ramparts  grander 

Than  the  foe. 

Not  too  long  the  bf ave  shall  wait : 
On  their  own  heads  be  their  fate, 
Who  against  the  hallowed  State 

Dare  begin ; 

Flag  defied  and  compact  riven! 
In  the  record  of  high  Heaven 
How  shall  Southern  men  be  shriven 

For  the  sin! 

EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     163 


MEN  OF  THE  NORTH  AND  WEST 
(APRIL,  1861) 

Men  of  the  North  and  West, 

Wake  in  your  might. 
Prepare,  as  the  rebels  have  done, 

For  the  fight ! 

You  cannot  shrink  from  the  test ; 
Rise !  Men  of  the  North  and  West ! 

They  have  torn  down  your  banner  of  stars ; 

They  have  trampled  the  laws ; 
They  have  stifled  the   freedom  they  hate, 

•For  no  cause! 

Do  you  love  't  or  slavery  best? 
Speak!  Men  of  the  North  and  West! 

They  strike  at  the  life  of  the  State  ; 

Shall  the  murder  be  done? 
They  cry  "We  are  two !"  and  you  ? 

"We  are  one!" 

You  must  meet  them  then,  breast  to  breast ! 
On!  Men  of  the  North  and  West! 

Not  with  words ;  they  laugh  them  to  scorn ; 

And  tears  they  despise ; 
But  with  swords  in  your  hands,  and  death 

In  your  eyes ! 

Strike  home !  Leave  to  God  all  the  rest ; 
Strike !  Men  of  the  North  and  West ! 

RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARP. 

By  permission   of   the    Publishers,    Messrs.    Charles    Scribner's 
Sons. 


164     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


DIXIE 

[Based  on  a  popular  negro  minstrel  song,  by  Daniel  D.  Emmett, 
an  Ohio  actor  and  song-writer,  voicing  the  longing  of  a  slave  to 
be  back  "In  Dixie  Land  whar  I  was  born  in."  The  stirring  strains 
of  the  tune,  and  the  refrain,  "In  Dixie  Land  I'll  take  my  stand,  to 
lib  an'  die  in  Dixie,"  were  skillfully  used  to  make  the  new  song  a 
vital  inspiration  to  the  South  during  the  war.] 

Southrons,  hear  your  country  call  you! 
Up,  lest  worse  than  death  befall  you! 

To  arms !   To  arms !   To  arms,  in  Dixie ! 
Lo !  all  the  beacon-fires  are  lighted, — 
Let  all  hearts  be  now  united! 

To  arms !   To  arms !   To  arms,  in  Dixie ! 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie! 

Hurrah!  hurrah! 

For  Dixie's  land  we  take  our  stand, 
And  live  and  die  for  Dixie! 

To  arms!   To  arms! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie ! 

To  arms!   To  arms! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie ! 

Hear  the  Northern  thunders  mutter! 
Northern  flags  in  South  winds  flutter ! 
Send  them  back  your  fierce  defiance ! 
Stamp  upon  the  accursed  alliance ! 

Fear  no  danger!  Shun  no  labor! 
Lift  up  rifle,  pike  and  saber ! 
Shoulder  pressing  close  to  shoulder, 
Let  the  odds  make  each  heart  bolder! 

How  the  South's  great  heart  rejoices 
At  your  cannons'  ringing  voices ! 
For  faith  betrayed,  and  pledges  broken, 
Wrongs  inflicted,  insults  spoken. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     165 

Strong  as  lions,  swift  as  eagles, 
Back  to  their  kennels  hunt  these  beagles ! 
Cut  the  unequal  bonds  asunder ! 
Let  them  hence  each  other  plunder! 

Swear  upon  your  country's  altar 
Never  to  submit  or  falter, 
Till  the  spoilers  are  defeated, 
Till  the  Lord's  work  is  completed! 

Halt  not  till  our  Federation 
Secures  among  earth's  powers  its  station ! 
Then  at  peace,  and  crowned  with  glory, 
Hear  your  children  tell  the  story ! 

If  the  loved  ones  weep  in  sadness, 
Victory  soon  shall  bring  them  gladness, — 

To  arms ! 

Exultant  pride  soon  vanish  sorrow; 
Smiles  chase  tears  away  to-morrow. 

To  arms !   To  arms !   To  arms,  in  Dixie ! 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie! 

Hurrah !  hurrah ! 

For  Dixie's  land  we  take  our  stand, 
And  live  or  die  for  Dixie ! 

To  arms!    To  arms! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie ! 

To  arms!   To  arms! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie ! 

ALBERT  PIKE. 


166     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


MY  MARYLAND 

The  despot's  heel  is  on  thy  shore, 

Maryland ! 
His  torch  is  at  thy  temple  door, 

Maryland ! 

Avenge  the  patriotic  gore 
That  flecked  the  streets  of  Baltimore, 
And  be  the  battle-queen  of  yore, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland! 

Hark  to  an  exiled  son's  appeal, 

Maryland ! 
My  Mother  State,  to  thee  I  kneel, 

Maryland ! 

For  life  and  death,  for  woe  and  weal, 
Thy  peerless  chivalry  reveal, 
And  gird  thy  beauteous  limbs   with  steel, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland ! 

Thou  wilt  not  cower  in  the  dust, 

Maryland ! 
Thy  beaming  sword  shall  never  rust, 

Maryland ! 

Remember  Carroll's  sacred  trust, 
Remember  Howard's  warlike  thrust, 
And  all  thy  slumberers  with  the  just, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland! 

Come!  't  is  the  red  dawn  of  the  day, 

Maryland ! 
Come  with  thy  panoplied  array, 

Maryland ! 

With  Ringgold's  spirit  for  the  fray, 
With  Watson's  blood  at  Monterey, 
With  fearless  Lowe  and  dashing  May, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland! 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     167 

Dear  Mother,  burst  the  tyrant's  chain, 

Maryland ! 
Virginia  should  not  call  in  vain, 

Maryland ! 

She  meets  her  sisters  on  the  plain, — 
"Sic  semper!"  't  is  the  proud  refrain 
That  baffles  minions  back  amain, 

Maryland ! 
Arise  in  majesty  again, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland! 
And  chant  thy  dauntless  slogan-song, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland ! 

I  see  the  blush  upon  thy  cheek, 

Maryland ! 
For  thou  wast  ever  bravely  meek, 

Maryland ! 

But  lo !  there  surges  forth  a  shriek, 
From  hill  to  hill,  from  creek  to  creek, 
Potomac  calls  to  Chesapeake, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland ! 

Thou  wilt  not  yield  the  vandal  toll, 

Maryland ! 
Thou  wilt  not  crook  to  his  control, 

Maryland ! 

Better  the  fire  upon  thee  roll, 
Better  the  shot,  the  blade,  the  bowl, 
Than  crucifixion  of  the  soul, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland! 

I  hear  the  distant  thunder  hum, 

Maryland ! 
The  Old  Line's  bugle,  fife,  and  drum, 

Maryland ! 

She  is  not  dead,  nor  deaf,  nor  dumb ; 
Huzza!  she  spurns  the  Northern  scum! 
She   breathes!    She  burns!    She'll    come!    She'll 
come ! 

Maryland,  my  Maryland ! 

JAMES  RYDER  RANDALL. 


168     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


THE   BATTLE-CRY   OF   FREEDOM 

\This  song  and  its  tune  were  composed  in  1861  by  a  trained 
musician,  organist,  singer,  and  Doctor  of  Music^  (University  of 
Chicago).  There  are  many  tales  of  its  inspiring  influence  at  criti- 
cal moments,  both  on  individuals,  crowds,  and  troops.] 

Yes,  we'll  rally  round  the  flag,  boys,  we'll  rally  once 

again, 

Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  Freedom; 
We  will  rally  from  the  hillside,  we'll  gather  from  the 
plain, 

Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  Freedom. 

• 

CHORUS 

The  Union  forever,  hurrah,  boys,  hurrah!    Down  with 

the  traitor,  up  with  the  star ; 
While  we  rally  round  the  flag,  boys,  rally  once  again, 

Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  Freedom. 

We  are  springing  to  the  call  of  our  brothers  gone  before, 

Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  Freedom; 
And  we'll  fill  the  vacant  ranks  with  a  million  freemen 
more, 

Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  Freedom. 

We  will  welcome  to  our  numbers  the  loyal,  true  and 
brave, 

Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  Freedom; 
And  altho'  they  may  be  poor,  not  a  man  shall  be  a  slave, 

Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  Freedom. 

So  we're  springing  to  the  call  from  the  East  and  from  the 

West, 

Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  Freedom ; 
And  we'll  hurl  the  rebel  crew  from  the  land  we  love  the 

best, 
Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  Freedom. 

GEORGE  FREDERICK  ROOT. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     169 


MANASSAS 

[The  first  notable  battle  of  the  Civil  War  was  at  Bull  Run,  Vir- 
ginia (or  Manassas,  as  the  Confederates  called  it),  on  July  21, 
1861,  when  the  Union  Army  were  routed.  This  caused  high  joy  at 
the  South,  and  great  depression  at  the  North — from  which  latter 
wholesome  condition  came  a  fine  rebound.  A  new  army  of  150,000 
was  raised,  organized  under  General  George  B.  McClellan,  and 
arrayed  along  the  Potomac  River.] 

They   have   met   at   last — as   storm-clouds 

Meet  in  heaven, 
And  the  Northmen  back  and  bleeding 

Have  been  driven; 
And  their  thunders  have  been  stilled, 
And  their  leaders  crushed  or  killed, 
And  their  ranks  with  terror  thrilled, 

Rent  and  riven ! 

Like  the  leaves  of  Vallambrosa 

They  are  lying; 
In  the  moonlight,  in  the  midnight, 

Dead  and  dying; 

Like  those  leaves  before  the  gale, 
Swept  their  legions,  wild  and  pale ; 
While  the  host  that  made  them  quail 

Stood,   defying. 

When  aloft  in  morning  sunlight 

Flags  were  flaunted, 
And  "swift  vengeance  on  the  rebel" 

Proudly  vaunted: 
Little  did  they  think  that  night 
Should  close  upon  their  shameful  flight, 
And  rebels,  victors  in  the  fight, 

Stand   undaunted. 


170     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

But  peace  to  those  who  perished 

In  our  passes ! 
Light  be  the  earth  above  them; 

Green  the  grasses ! 
Long  shall  Northmen  rue  the  day 
When  they  met  our  stern  array, 
And  shrunk  from  battle's  wild  affray 

At  Manassas. 

CATHERINE  M.  WARFIELD. 

From  "Poems  of  American  History,"  by  permission  of  Burton 
E.  Stevenson,  Editor. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     171 


THREE   HUNDRED   THOUSAND   MORE 

[On  July  2,  1862,  finding  that  General  McClellan  had  fought 
much  and  gained  little,  while  losing  75,000  men,  President  Lincoln 
called  for  a  new  army  of  300,000  volunteers — and  got  it.] 

We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand 
more, 

From  Mississippi's  winding  stream  and  from  New  Eng- 
land's shore ; 

We  leave  our  ploughs  and  workshops,  our  wives  and 
children  dear, 

With  hearts  too  full  for  utterance,  with  but  a  silent  tear ; 

We  dare  not  look  behind  us,  but  steadfastly  before : 

We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand 
more! 

If  you  look  across  the  hill-tops  that  meet  the  northern 

sky, 

Long  moving  lines  of  rising  dust  your  vision  may  descry ; 
And  now  the  wind,  an  instant,  tears  the  cloudy  veil  aside, 
And  floats  aloft  our  spangled  flag  in  glory  and  in  pride, 
And  bayonets  in  the  sunlight  gleam,  and  bands  brave 

music  pour : 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand 

more! 

If  you  look  all  up  our  valleys  where  the  growing  harvests 

shine, 
You  may  see  our  sturdy  farmer  boys  fast  forming  into 

line; 
And  children  from  their  mother's  knees  are  pulling  at 

the  weeds, 
And  learning  how  to  reap  and  sow  against  their  country's 

needs ; 
And  a  farewell  group  stands  weeping  at  every  cottage 

door: 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand 

more ! 


172     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

You  have  called  us,  and  we're  coming,  by  Richmond's 
bloody  tide 

To  lay  us  down,  for  Freedom's  sake,  our  brothers'  bones 
beside, 

Or  from  foul  treason's  savage  grasp  to  wrench  the  mur- 
derous blade, 

And  in  the  face  of  foreign  foes  its  fragments  to  parade. 

Six   hundred  thousand  loyal  men  and  true   have  gone 
before: 

We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand 
more ! 

JAMES  SLOAN  GiBBONS.1 
1 A  Quaker  Abolitionist,  and  New  York  banker. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     173 


BATTLE   HYMN   OF  THE   REPUBLIC 

[A  happy  outgrowth  of  the  John  Brown  song  came  in  Decem- 
ber, 1861.  The  wife  of  Dr.  Samuel  G.  Howe,  then  in  Washing- 
ton, hearing  it  sung  by  marching  men,  was  urged  by  Dr.  James 
Freeman  Clarke  to  "ivrite  good  words  for  that  stirring  tune — 
words  worthy  of  it."  The  words  came  to  her  in  the  night.  James 
T.  Fields,  then  editor  of  the  'Atlantic  Monthly,"  gave  them  the 
title,  and  the  Nation  had  gained  a  noble  anthem.} 

Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord : 
He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of 

wrath  are  stored ; 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  His  terrible  swift 

sword ; 

His  truth  is  marching  on. 

Cho. — Glory,  glory,  halleujah ! 
Glory,  glory,  hallelujah ! 
Glory,  glory,  hallelujah ! 
His  truth  is  marching  on. 

I  have  seen  Him  in  the  watch-fires  of  a  hundred  circling 

camps ; 
They  have  builded  Him  an  altar  in  the  evening  dews  and 

damps ; 
I  can  read  His  righteous  sentence  by  the  dim  and  flaring 

lamps. 

His  day  is  marching  on. 

I  have  read  His  fiery  gospel,  writ  in  rows  of  burnished 

steel ; 
"As  ye  deal  with  My  contemners,  so  with  you  My  grace 

shall  deal; 
Let  the  Hero,  born  of  woman,  crush  the  serpent  with  his 

heel," 

Since  God  is  marching  on. 


174     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call 
retreat ; 

He  is  searching  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  His  judg- 
ment seat ; 

O  be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  Him!  be  jubilant,  my 
feet! 

Our  God  is  marching  on. 

In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  His  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me ; 
As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men 
free, 

While  God  is  marching  on. 

JULIA  WARD  HOWE. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     175 


TO  JOHN  C.  FREMONT 

[Commanding  the  Western  Department,  headquarters  at  St. 
Louis,  the  State  and  city  seething  with  Secessionism.  Unionists 
discouraged,  troops  few — Fremont  called  for  volunteers,  and 
thousands  came  from  nearby  States.  A  prompt  "Pathfinder,"  on 
August  12,  1861,  he  proclaimed  martial  law  in  Missouri,  with  con- 
fiscation of  property  and  freeing  of  the  slaves  of  Secessionists. 
Despite  enthusiasm  at  the  North,  President  Lincoln,  fearing  its 
effects  on  the  Border  States,  annulled  the  provision  as  to  slaves.} 

Thy  error,  Fremont,  simply  was  to  act 

A  brave  man's  part,  without  the  statesman's  tact, 

And,  taking  counsel  but  of  common  sense, 

To  strike  at  cause  as  well  as  consequence. 

O,  never  yet  since  Roland  wound  his  horn 

At  Roncesvalles  has  a  blast  been  blown 

Far-heard,  wide-echoed,  startling  as  thine  own, 

Heard  from  the  van  of  freedom's  hope  forlorn ! 

It  had  been  safer,  doubtless,  for  the  time, 

To  flatter  treason,  and  avoid  offence 

To  that  Dark  Power  whose  underlying  crime 

Heaved  upward  its  perpetual  turbulence. 

But,  if  thine  be  the  fate  of  all  who  break 

The  ground  for  truth's  seed,  or  forerun  their  years 

Till  lost  in  distance,  or  with  stout  hearts  wake 

A  love  for  freedom  through  the  level  spears, 

Still  take  thou  courage !     God  has  spoken  through  thee, 

Irrevocable,  the  mighty  words,  Be  Free ! 

The  land  shakes  with  them,  and  the  slave's  dull  ear 

Turns  from  the  rice-swamp  stealthily  to  hear. 

Who  would  recall  them  now  must  first  arrest 

The  winds  that  blow  down  from  the  free  Northwest, 

Ruffling  the  Gulf ;  or  like  a  scroll  roll  back 

The  Mississippi  to  its  upper  springs. 

Such  words  fulfill  their  prophecy,  and  lack 

But  the  full  time  to  harden  into  things. 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


176     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


CAVALRY  SONG 

Our  bugles  sound  gayly.    To  horse  and  away ! 
And  over  the  mountains  breaks  the  day; 
Then  ho !  brothers  ho !  for  the  ride  or  the  fight, 
There  are  deeds  to  be  done  ere  we  slumber  to-night. 

Then  mount  and  away !    Let  the  coward  delight 
To  be  lazy  all  day  and  safe  all  night ; 
Our  joy  is  a  charger,  flecked  with  foam, 
The  earth  is  our  bed  and  the  saddle  our  home. 

See  yonder  the  ranks  of  the  traitorous  foe, 
And  bright  in  the  sunshine  bayonets  glow ! 
Breathe  a  prayer,  but  no  sigh ;  think  for  what  you  would 

fight; 
Then  charge !  with  a  will,  boys,  and  God  for  the  right. 

We  have  gathered  again  the  red  laurels  of  war; 
We  have  followed  the  f oemen  fast  and  far ; 
But  some  who  rose  gayly  this  morn  with  the  sun 
Lie  bleeding  and  pale  on  the  field  they  have  won. 

And  whether  we  fight  or  whether  we  fall 
By  saber-stroke  or  rifle-ball, 
The  hearts  of  the  free  will  remember  us  yet, 
And  our  country,  our  country  will  never  forget. 

ROSSITER  W.  RAYMOND. 
By  courtesy  of  Mrs.  R.  W.  Raymond. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     177 


THE  SWORD-BEARER 

[Dismay  fell  upon  the  North  when  in  the  bay  of  Hampton 
Roads,  Virginia,  on  March  9,  1862,  the  iron-clad  Confederate  ram 
"Merrimac" — a  neiv  feature  in  naval  war — rammed  and  sunk  the 
"Cumberland"  disabled  the  "Congress,"  and  dispersed  the  three 
other  Union  war  vessels.  Captain  George  Upham  Morris  com- 
manded the  "Cumberland"] 

Brave  Morris  saw  the  day  was  lost: 

For  nothing  now  remained 
Of  the  wrecked  and  sinking  Cumberland 

But  to  save  the  flag  unstained. 

So  he  swore  an  oath  in  the  sight  of  heaven — 

(If  he  kept  it  the  world  can  tell!) 
"Before  I  strike  to  a  rebel  flag, 

I'll  sink  to  the  gates  of  hell ! 

"Here,  take  my  sword ;  't  is  in  my  way ; 

I  shall  trip  o'er  the  useless  steel; 
For  I'll  meet  the  lot  that  falls  to  all, 

With  my  shoulder  at  the  wheel/* 

So  the  little  negro  took  the  sword, 

And  oh,  with  what  reverent  care! 
Following  his  master  step  by  step, 

He  bore  it  here  and  there. 

A  thought  had  crept  through  his  sluggish  brain, 

And  shone  in  his  dusky  face, 
That  somehow — he  could  not  tell  just  how — 

'T  was  the  sword  of  his  trampled  race. 

And  as  Morris,  great  with  his  lion  heart, 

Rushed  onward  from  gun  to  gun, 
The  little  negro  slid  after  him 

Like  a  shadow  in  the  sun. 


178     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

But  something  of  pomp  and  of  curious  pride 

The  sable  creature  wore, 
Which  at  any  time  but  a  time  like  that 

Would  have  made  the  ship's  crew  roar. 

Over  the  wounded,  dying,  and  dead, 

Like  an  usher  of  the  rod, 
The  black  page,  full  of  his  mighty  trust, 

With  dainty  caution  trod. 

No  heed  he  gave  to  the  flying  ball, 

No  heed  to  the  bursting  shell ; 
His  duty  was  something  more  than  life, 

And  he  strove  to  do  it  well. 

Down  with  our  starry  flag  apeak, 

In  the  whirling  sea  we  sank; 
And  captain  and  crew  and  the  sword-bearer 

Were  washed  from  the  bloody  plank. 

They  picked  us  up  from  the  hungry  waves — 

Alas,  not  all !    And  where, 
Where  is  the  faithful  negro  lad? 

"Back  oars  !  avast !  look  there !" 

We  looked,  and  as  heaven  may  save  my  soul, 

I  pledge  you  a  sailor's  word, 
There,  fathoms  deep  in  the  sea  he  lay, 

Still  grasping  his  master's  sword. 

We  drew  him  out ;  and  many  an  hour 

We  wrought  with  his  rigid  form 
Ere  the  almost  smothered  spark  of  life 

By  slow  degrees  grew  warm. 

The  first  dull  glance  that  his  eyeballs  rolled 
Was  down  toward  his  shrunken  hand ; 

And  he  smiled,  and  closed  his  eyes  again, 
As  they  fell  on  the  rescued  brand. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     179 

And  no  one  touched  the  sacred  sword, 

Till  at  length,  when  Morris  came, 
The  little  negro  stretched  it  out 

With  his  eager  eyes  aflame. 

And  if  Morris  wrung  the  poor  boy's  hand, 
And  his  words  seemed  hard  to  speak, 

And  tears  ran  down  his  manly  cheeks, 
What  tongue  shall  call  him  weak? 

GEORGE  HENRY  BOKER. 

By  permission  of  the  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  the  Publishers, 
and  the  courtesy  of  Mrs.  George  Boker. 


180     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


DIRGE  FOR  A  SOLDIER 

[General  Philip  Kearny,  killed  at  the  battle  of  Chantilly,  Va., 
on  September  1,  1862,  through  mistakenly  riding  into  the  enemy's 
lines.} 

Gose  his  eyes ;  his  work  is  done ! 

What  to  him  is  friend  or  foeman, 
Rise  of  moon,  or  set  of  sun, 

Hand  of  man,  or  kiss  of  woman? 
Lay  him  low,  lay  him  low, 
In  the  clover  or  the  snow ! 
What  cares  he?  he  cannot  know: 
Lay  him  low ! 

As  man  may,  he  fought  his  fight, 

Proved  his  truth  by  his  endeavor; 
Let  him  sleep  in  solemn  night, 
Sleep  forever  and  forever. 
Lay  him  low,  lay  him  low, 
In  the  clover  or  the  snow! 
What  cares  he?  he  cannot  know: 
Lay  him  low! 

Fold  him  in  his  country's  stars, 

Roll  the  drum  and  fire  the  volley ; 
What  to  him  are  all  our  wars, 

What  but  Death  bemocking  Folly? 
Lay  him  low,  lay  him  low, 
In  the  clover  or  the  snow! 
What  cares  he?  he  cannot  know: 
Lay  him  low! 

Leave  him  to  God's  watching  eye, 

Trust  him  to  the  hand  that  made  him, 

Mortal  love  weeps  idly  by : 

God  alone  has  power  to  aid  him. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     181 

Lay  him  low,  lay  him  low, 
In  the  clover  or  the  snow ! 
What  cares  he?  he  cannot  know: 
Lay  him  low! 

GEORGE  HENRY  BOKER. 

By  permission  of  the  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company  and  the  courtesy 
of  Mrs.  George  Boker. 


182     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

BARBARA    FRIETCHIE 
[A  tradition  of  September,  1862] 

Up  from  the  meadows,  rich  with  corn, 
Clear  in  the  cool  September  morn, 

The  clustering  spires  of  Frederick  stand, 
Green-walled  by  the  hills  of  Maryland. 

Round  about  them  orchards  sweep, 
Apple  and  peach  tree  fruited  deep, 

Fair  as  the  garden  of  the  Lord 

To  the  eyes  of  the  famished  rebel  horde, 

On  that  pleasant  morn  of  the  early  fall, 
When  Lee  marched  over  the  mountain  wall — 

Over  the  mountains,  winding  down, 
Horse  and  foot  into  Frederick  town. 

Forty  flags  with  their  silver  stars, 
Forty  flags  with  their  crimson  bars, 

Flapped  in  the  morning  wind ;  the  sun 
At  noon  looked  down  and  saw  not  one. 

Up  rose  old  Barbara  Frietchie  then, 
Bowed  with  four-score  years  and  ten; 

Bravest  of  all  in  Frederick  town, 

She  took  up  the  flag  the  men  hauled  down; 

In  her  attic  window  the  flag  she  set, 
To  show  that  one  heart  was  loyal  yet. 

Up  the  street  came  the  rebel  tread, 
Stonewall  Jackson  riding  ahead. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     183 

Under  his  slouched  hat,  left  and  right, 
He  glanced — the  old  flag  met  his  sight ; 

"Halt!" — the  dust-brown  ranks  stood  fast. 
"Fire I"— outblazed  the  rifle  blast; 

It  shivered  the  window,  pane  and  sash ; 
It  rent  the  banner  with  seam  and  gash. 

Quick  as  it  fell  from  the  broken  staff, 
Dame  Barbara  snatched  at  the  silken  scarf ; 

She  leaned  far  out  on  the  window-sill 
And  shook  it  forth  with  a  royal  will : 

"Shoot,  if  you  must,  this  old  gray  head, 
But  spare  your  country's  flag/'  she  said. 

A  shade  of  sadness,  a  blush  of  shame 
Over  the  face  of  the  leader  came ; 

The  noble  nature  within  him  stirred 
To  life  at  that  woman's  deed  and  word: 

"Who  touches  a  hair  of  yon  gray  head 
Dies  like  a  dog!     March  on!"  he  said. 

All  day  long  through  Frederick's  street 
Sounded  the  tread  of  marching  feet ; 

All  day  long  that  free  flag  tossed 
Over  the  heads  of  the  rebel  host. 

Ever  its  torn  folds  rose  and  fell 

On  the  loyal  winds  that  loved  it  well ; 

And  through  the  hill-gaps  sunset  light 
Shone  over  it  with  a  warm  good-night.. 


184     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

Barbara  Frietchie's  work  is  o'er, 

And  the  rebel  rides  on  his  raids  no  more. 

Honor  to  her !  and  let  a  tear 

Fall,  for  her  sake,  on  Stonewall's  bier. 

Over  Barbara  Frietchie's  grave 
Flag  of  Freedom  and  Union  wave ! 

Peace  and  order  and  beauty  draw 
Round  thy  symbol  of  light  and  law ; 

And  ever  the  stars  above  look  down 
On  thy  stars  below  in  Frederick  town ! 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     185 


STONEWALL  JACKSON'S  WAY 

Come,  stack  arms,  men !   Pile  on  the  rails, 

Stir  up  the  camp-fire  bright ; 
No  growling  if  the  canteen  fails, 

We'll  make  a  roaring  night. 
Here  Shenandoah  brawls  along, 
There  burly  Blue  Ridge  echoes  strong,    . 
To  swell  the  Brigade's  rousing  song 

Of  "Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 

We  see  him  now — the  queer  slouched  hat 

Cocked  o'er  his  eye  askew ; 
The  shrewd,  dry  smile;  the  speech  so  pat, 

So  calm,  so  blunt,  so  true. 
The  "Blue-Light  Elder"  knows  'em  well; 
Says  he,  "That's  Banks— he's  fond  of  shell; 
Lord  save  his  soul !  we'll  give  him — "  well ! 

That's  "Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 

Silence !  ground  arms !  kneel  all !  caps  off ! 

Old  Massa's  goin'  to  pray. 
Strangle  the  fool  that  dares  to  scoff! 

Attention !  it's  his  way. 
Appealing  from  his  native  sod, 
In  forma  pau  peris  to  God: 
"Lay  bare  Thine  arm ;  stretch  forth  Thy  rod ! 

Amen !"   That's  "Stonewall's  way." 

He's  in  the  saddle  now.    Fall  in! 

Steady !  the  whole  brigade ! 
Hill's  at  the  ford,  cut  off ;  we'll  win 

His  way  out,  ball  and  blade ! 
What  matter  if  our  shoes  are  worn? 
What  matter  if  our  feet  are  torn  ? 
"Quick   step!   we're   with   him   before   morn!" 

That's  "Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 


186     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

The  sun's  bright  lances  rout  the  mists 

Of  morning,  and,  by  George ! 
Here's  Longstreet,  struggling,  in  the  lists, 

Hemmed  in  an  ugly  gorge. 
Pope  and  his  Dutchmen,  whipped  before ; 
"Bay 'nets  and  grape!"  hear  Stonewall  roar; 
"Charge,  Stuart !   Pay  off  Ashby's  score  1" 

In  "Stonewall  Jackson's  way." 

Ah !  Maiden,  wait  and  watch  and  yearn 

For  news  of  Stonewall's  band ! 
Ah !  Widow,  read,  with  eyes  that  burn, 

That  ring  upon  thy  hand. 
Ah!  Wife,  sew  on,  pray  on,  hope  on; 
Thy  life  shall  not  be  all  forlorn; 
The  foe  had  better  ne'er  been  born 

That  gets  in  "Stonewall's  way." 

JOHN  WILLIAMSON  PALMER. 

From  "For  Charlie's  Sake  and  Other  Poems"  (Copyright,  1901), 
by  permission  of  the  Funk  &  Wagnalls  Company. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     187 


BOSTON  HYMN 

[Sensing  the  growing  popular  Northern  demand  for  emancipa- 
tion, to  cripple  the  South,  President  Lincoln  {when  McClellan's 
victory  at  Antietam-,  September  10-17,  gave  him  a  good  basis),  on 
September  22,  1862,  proclaimed  freedom  to  slaves  in  all  States  con- 
tinning  in  rebellion  on  January  1,  1863.  On  the  latter  date,  re- 
bellion still  in  activity,  .as  commander-in-chief  of  the  armed  forces 
of  the  United  States,  he  issued  a  final  proclamation  of  "a  fit  and 
necessary  war-measure"  for  suppressing  the  rebellion,  confirming 
the  earlier  document  and  specifying  the  States  wherein  it  should 
take  effect.] 

The  word  of  the  Lord  by  night 

To  the  watching  Pilgrims  came, 
As  they  sat  by  the  seaside, 

And  filled  their  hearts  with  flame. 

God  said,  I  am  tired  of  kings, 

I  suffer  them  no  more ; 
Up  to  my  ear  the  morning  brings 

The  outrage  of  the  poor. 

Think  ye  I  made  this  ball 

A  field  of  havoc  and  war, 
Where  tyrants  great  and  small 

Might  harry  the  weak  and  poor? 

My  angel — his  name  is  Freedom — 

Choose  him  to  be  your  king ; 
He  shall  cut  pathways  east  and  west, 

And  fend  you  with  his  wing. 

Lo !  I  uncover  the  land, 

Which  I  hid  of  old  time  in  the  West, 
As  the  sculptor  uncovers  the  statue 

When  he  has  wrought  his  best ; 

I  show  Columbia,  of  the  rocks 

Which  dip  their  foot  in  the  seas, 
And  soar  to  the  air-borne  flocks 

Of  clouds  and  the  boreal  fleece. 


188     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

I  will  divide  my  goods ; 

Call  in  the  wretch  and  slave ; 
None  shall  rule  but  the  humble, 

And  none  but  Toil  shall  have. 

I  will  never  have  a  noble, 

No  lineage  counted  great ; 
Fishers  and  choppers  and  ploughmen 

Shall  constitute  a  state. 

Go,  cut  down  trees  in  the  forest 

And  trim  the  straightest  boughs  ; 
Cut  down  trees  in  the  forest 

And  build  me  a  wooden  house. 

Call  the  people  together, 

The  young  men  and  the  sires, 
The  digger  in  the  harvest-field, 

Hireling  and  him  that  hires ; 

And  here  in  a  pine  state-house 

They  shall  choose  men  to  rule 
In  every  needful  faculty, 

In  church  and  state  and  school. 

Lo,  now!  if  these  poor  men 

Can  govern  the  land  and  sea, 
And  make  just  laws  below  the  sun, 

As  planets  faithful  be ; 

And  ye  shall  succor  men ; 

'Tis  nobleness  to  serve ; 
Help  them  who  cannot  help  again ; 

Beware  from  right  to  swerve. 

I  break  your  bonds  and  masterships, 

And  I  unchain  the  slave : 
Free  be  his  heart  and  hand  henceforth 

As  wind  and  wandering  wave. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     189 

I  cause  from  every  creature 

His  proper  good  to  flow ; 
As  much  as  he  is  and  doeth, 

So  much  he  shall  bestow. 

But,  laying  hands  on  another, 

To  coin  his  labor  and  sweat, 
He  goes  in  pawn  to  his  victim 

For  eternal  years  in  debt. 

To-day  unbind  the  captive, 

So  only  are  ye  unbound; 
Lift  up  a  people  from  the  dust, 

Trump  of  their  rescue,  sound! 

Pay  ransom  to  the  owner 

And  fill  the  bag  to  the  brim. 
Who  is  the  owner?    The  slave  is  owner, 

And  ever  was.     Pay  him. 

O  North !  give  him  beauty  for  rags, 

And   honor,    O    South!    for  his    shame; 

Nevada!  coin  thy  golden  crags 
With  Freedom's  image  and  name. 

Up !  and  the  dusky  race 

That  sat  in  darkness  long, — 
Be  swift  their  feet  as  antelopes, 

And  as  behemoth  strong. 

Come,  East  and  West  and  North, 

By  races,  as  snowflakes, 
And  carry  my  purpose  forth, 

Which  neither  halts  nor  shakes. 

My  will  fulfilled  shall  be, 

For,  in  daylight  or  in  dark, 
My  thunderbolt  has  eyes  to  see 

His  way  home  to  the  mark. 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

By    permission    of,    and    special    arrangement    with,    Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


190     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


KEENAN'S  CHARGE 

[Battle  of  Chancellor svillc,  Va.,  May  2,  1863,  Lee  and  Hooker, 
commanders.  Stonewall  Jackson's  flank  attack  was  checked  by 
Major  Peter  Keenan's  cavalry  charge,  until  artillery  could  form 
and  repel  it.} 

The  sun  had  set; 

The  leaves  with  dew  were  wet, — 

Down  fell  a  bloody  dusk 

Where  "Stonewall's"  corps,  like  a  beast  of  prey, 

Tore  through  with  angry  tusk. 

"They've  trapped  us,  boys !" 
Rose  from  our  flank  a  voice. 
With  rush  of  steel  and  smoke 
On  came  the  rebels  straight, 
Eager  as  love,  and  wild  as  hate; 
And  our  line  reeled  and  broke ; 

Broke  and  fled. 

No  one  stayed, — but  the  dead! 

With  curses,  shrieks  and  cries, 

Horses  and  wagons  and  men 

Tumbled  back  through  the  shuddering  glen, 

And  above  us  the  fading  skies. 

There's  one  hope,  still, — 
Those  batteries  parked  on  the  hill ! 
"Battery,  wheel"  ('mid  the  roar), 
"Pass  pieces ;  fix  prolonge  to  fire 
Retiring.     Trot !"     In  the  panic  dire 
A  bugle  rings  "Trot !" — and  no  more. 

The  horses  plunged, 

The  cannon  lurched  and  lunged, 

To  join  the  hopeless  rout. 

But  suddenly  rose  a  form 

Calmly  in  front  of  the  human  storm. 

With  a  stern  commanding  shout : 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     191 

"Align  those  guns!" 

(We  knew  it  was  Pleasanton's.) 

The  cannoneers  bent  to  obey, 

And  worked  with  a  will  at  his  word, 

And  the  black  guns  moved  as  if  they  had  heard. 

But,  ah,  the  dread  delay ! 

"To  wait  is  crime ; 
O  God,  for  ten  minutes'  time !" 
The  general  looked  around, 
There  Keenan  sat,  like  a  stone, 
With  his  three  hundred  horse  alone, 
Less  shaken  than  the  ground. 

"Major,  your  men?" 

"Are  soldiers,  General."     "Then, 

Charge,  Major.     Do  your  best; 

Hold  the  enemy  back,  at  all  cost, 

Till  my  guns  are  placed; — else  the  army  is  lost. 

You  die  to  save  the  rest !" 


By  the  shrouded  gleam  of  the  western  skies 
Brave  Keenan  looked  into  Pleasanton's  eyes 
For  an  instant, — clear,  and  cool,  and  still ; 
Then,  with  a  smile,  he  said :  "I  will." 

"Cavalry,  charge !"     Not  a  man  of  them  shrank. 
Their  sharp,  full  cheer,  from  rank  on  rank, 
Rose  joyously,  with  a  willing  breath, — 
Rose  like  a  greeting  hail  to  death. 

Then  forward  they  sprang,  and  spurred,  and  clashed; 

Shouted  the  officers,  crimson-sashed ; 

Rode  well  the  men,  each  brave  as  his  fellow, 

In  their  faded  coats  of  the  blue  and  yellow ; 

And  above  in  the  air,  with  an  instinct  true, 

Like  a  bird  of  war  their  pennon  flew. 


192     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

With  clank  of  scabbards  and  thunder  of  steeds, 
And  blades  that  shine  like  sunlit  reeds, 
And  strong  brown  faces  bravely  pale 
For  fear  their  proud  attempt  shall  fail, 
Three  hundred  Pennsylvanians  close 
On  twice  ten  thousand  gallant  foes. 

Line  after  line  the  troopers  came 

To  the  edge  of  the  wood  that  was  ringed  with  flame; 

Rode  in  and  sabered  and  shot, — and  fell ; 

Nor  came  one  back  his  wounds  to  tell. 

And  full  in  the  midst  rose  Keenan,  tall, 

In  the  gloom  like  a  martyr  awaiting  his  fall, 

While  the  circle-stroke  of  his  saber,  swung 

'Round  his  head,  like  a  halo  there,  luminous  hung. 

Line  after  line — ay,  whole  platoons, 
Struck  dead  in  their  saddles — of  brave  dragoons, 
By  the  maddened  horses  were  onward  borne, 
And  into  the  vortex  flung,  trampled  and  torn; 
As  Keenan  fought  with  his  men,  side  by  side, 
So  they  rode,  till  there  were  no  more  to  ride. 

But  over  them,  lying  there,  shattered  and  mute, 
What  deep  echo  rolls  ? — Tis  a  death-salute 
From  the  cannon  in  place ;  for,  heroes,  you  braved 
Your  fate  not  in  vain :  the  army  was  saved ! 

Over  them  now — year  following  year — 

Over  their  graves  the  pine  cones  fall, 

And  the  whippoorwill  chants  his  specter-call; 

But  they  stir  not  again,  they  raise  no  cheer ; 

They  have  ceased.     But  their  glory  shall   never  cease, 

Nor  their  light  be  quenched  in  the  light  of  peace. 

The  rush  of  their  charge  is  resounding  still 

That  saved  the  army  at  Chancellorsville. 

GEORGE  PARSONS  LATHROP. 

From   "Dreams   and   Days,"   by   permission   of   the   Publishers, 
Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     193 


TRAMP,  TRAMP,  TRAMP 

In  the  prison  cell  I  sit, 

Thinking,  Mother,  dear,  of  you, 

And  our  bright  "and  happy  home  so  far  away. 
And  the  tears  they  fill  my  eyes, 
Spite  of  all  that  I  can  do, 

Tho'  I  try  to  cheer  my  comrades  and  be  gay. 

CHORUS  : 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  the  boys  are  marching, 

Cheer  up,  comrades,  they  will  come, 
And  beneath'the  starry  flag  ive  shall  breathe  the  air  again 

Of  freedom  in  our  own  beloved  home. 

In  the  battle  front  we  stood 

When  the  fiercest  charge  they  made 

And  they  swept  us  off  a  hundred  men  or  more. 
But  before  one  reached  their  lines 
They  were  beaten  back  dismayed 

And  we  heard  the  cry  of  victory  o'er  and  o'er. 

So  within  the  prison  cell 
We  are  waiting  for  the  day 

That  shall  come  to  open  wide  the  iron  door, 
And  the  hollow  eye  grows  bright, 
And  the  poor  heart  almost  gay, 
As  we  think  of  seeing  friends  and  home  once  more. 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  the  boys  are  marching, 

Cheer  up,  comrades,  they  will  come, 
And  beneath  the  starry  flag  we  shall  breathe  the  air  again 

Of  freedom  in  our  own  beloved  home. 

ANONYMOUS. 


194     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


THE  BLACK  REGIMENT 

[The  First  and  Second  Louisiana  Native   Guards,  at  siege  of 
Port  Hudson  on  the  Mississippi,  May  27,  1863.] 

Dark  as  the  cloud  of  even, 
Ranked  in  the  western  heaven, 
Waiting  the  breath  that  lifts 
All  the  dead  mass,  and  drifts 
Tempest  and  falling  brand 
Over  a  ruined  land, — 
So  still  and  orderly, 
Arm  to  arm,  knee  to  knee, 
Waiting  the  great  event, 
Stands  the  black  regiment. 

Down  the  long  dusky  line 
Teeth  gleam  and  eyeballs  shine; 
And  the  bright  bayonet, 
Bristling  and  firmly  set, 
Flashed  with  purpose  grand, 
Long  ere  the  sharp  command 
Of  the  fierce  rolling  drum 
Told  them  their  time  had  come, 
Told  them  what  work  was  sent 
For  the  black  regiment. 

"Now  !"  the  flag  sergeant  cried, 
"Though  death  and  hell  betide, 
Let  the  whole  nation  see 
If  we  are  fit  to  be 
Free  in  this  land ;  or  bound 
Down,  like  the  whining  hound, — 
Bound  with  red  stripes  of  pain 
In  our  cold  chains  again!" 
Oh,  what  a  shout  there  went 
From  the  black  regiment ! 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     195 

"Charge!"  trump  and  drum  awoke; 
Onward  the  bondsmen  broke ; 
Bayonet  and  saber-stroke 
Vainly  opposed  their  rush. 
Through  the  wild  battle's  crush, 
With  but  one  thought  aflush, 
Driving  their  lords  like  chaff, 
In  the  gun's  mouth  they  laugh ; 
Or  at  the  slippery  brands, 
Leaping  with  open  hands, 
Down  they  tear  man  and  horse, 
Down  in  their  awful  course; 
Trampling  with  bloody  heel 
Over  the  crushing  steel, — 
All  their  eyes  forward  bent, 
Rushed  the  black  regiment. 

"Freedom !"  their  battle-crp, — 
"Freedom !  or  leave  to  die !" 
Ah,  and  they  meant  the  word ! 
Not  as  with  us  'tis  heard, — 
Not  a  mere  party  shout; 
They  gave  their  spirits  out, 
Trusting  the  end  to  God, 
And  on  the  gory  sod 
Rolled  in  triumphant  blood. 
Glad  to  strike  one  free  blow, 
Whether  for  weal  or  woe; 
Glad  to  breathe  one  free  breath, 
Though  on  the  lips  of  death ; 
Praying — alas,  in  vain  ! — 
That  they  might  fall  again, 
So  they  could  once  more  see 
That  burst  to  liberty ! 
This  was  what  "freedom"  lent 
To  the  black  regiment. 

Hundreds  on  hundreds  fell ; 
But  they  are  resting  well ; 


196     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

Scourges,  and  shackles  strong, 
Never  shall  do  them  wrong. 
Oh,  to  the  living  few, 
Soldiers,  be  just  and  true ! 
Hail  them  as  comrades  tried ; 
Fight  with  them  side  by  side; 
Never,  in  field  or  tent, 
Scorn  the  black  regiment! 

GEORGE  HENRY  BOKER. 

By  permission  of  the  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  the  Publishers, 
and  the  courtesy  of  Mrs.  George  Boker. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     197 
MUSIC  IN  CAMP 

[Winter  quarters,  1863.] 

Two  armies  covered  hill  and  plain, 

Where  Rappahannock's  waters 
Ran  deeply  crimsoned  with  the  stain 

Of  battle's  recent  slaughters. 

Down  flocked  the  soldiers  to  the  banks ; 

Till,  margined  by  its  pebbles, 
One  wooded  shore  was  blue  with  "Yanks" 

And  one  was  gray  with  "Rebels." 

Then  all  was  still ;  and  then  the  band, 
With  movement  light  and  tricksy, 

Made  stream  and  forest,  hill  and  strand, 
Reverberate  with  "Dixie." 

The  conscious  stream,  with  burnished  glow 

Went  proudly  o'er  its  pebbles, 
But  thrilled  throughout  its  deepest  flow 

With  yelling  of  the  Rebels. 

Again  a  pause ;  and  then  again 

The  trumpet  pealed  sonorous, 
And  "Yankee  Doodle"  was  the  strain 

To  which  the  shore  gave  chorus. 

The  laughing  ripple  shoreward  flew 

To  kiss  the  shining  pebbles ; 
Loud  shrieked  the  swarming  Boys  in  Blue 

Defiance  to  the  Rebels. 

And  yet  once  more  the  bugle  sang 

Above  the  stormy  riot ; 
No  shout  upon  the  evening  rang — 

There  reigned  a  holy  quiet. 


198     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

No  unresponsive  soul  had  heard 

That  plaintive  note's  appealing, 
So  deeply  "Home,  Sweet  Home"  has  stirred 

The  hidden  founts  of  feeling. 

Or  Blue  or  Gray,  the  soldier  sees, 

As  by  the  wand  of  fairy, 
The  cottage  'neath  the  live  oak  trees, 

The  cabin  by  the  prairie. 

Thus  memory,  waked  by  music's  art, 

Expressed  in  simple  numbers, 
Subdued  the  sternest  Yankee  heart, 

Made  light  the  Rebel's  slumbers. 

And  fair  the  form  of  Music  shines — 

That  bright  celestial  creature — 
Who  still  'mid  War's  embattled  lines 

Gave  this  one  touch  of  Nature. 

JOHN  R.  THOMPSON. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     199 


DRIVING   HOME   THE    COWS 

Out  of  the  clover  and  blue-eyed  grass, 
He  turned  them  into  the  river-lane; 

One  after  another  he  let  them  pass, 
Then  fastened  the  meadow-bars  again. 

Under  the  willows,  and  over  the  hill, 
He  patiently  followed  their  sober  pace; 

The  merry  whistle  for  once  was  still, 
And  something  shadowed  the  sunny  face. 

Only  a  boy !  and  his  father  had  said 
He  never  could  let  his  youngest  go : 

Two  already  were  lying  dead 

Under  the  feet  of  the  trampling  foe. 

But  after  the  evening  work  was  done, 

And  the  frogs  were  loud  in  the  meadow-swamp, 

Over  his  shoulder  he  slung  his  gun, 

And  stealthily  followed  the  foot-path  damp. 

Across  the  clover,  and  through  the  wheat, 
With  resolute  heart  and  purpose  grim, 

Though  cold  was  the  dew  on  his  hurrying  feet, 
And  the  blind  bat's  flitting  startled  him. 

Thrice  since  then  had  the  lanes  been  white, 
And  the  orchards  sweet  with  apple-bloom; 

And  now,  when  the  cows  came  back  at  night, 
The  feeble  father  drove  them  home. 

Por  news  had  come  to  the  lonely  farm 

That  three  were  lying  were  two  had  lain; 

And  the  old  man's  tremulous,  palsied  arm 
Could  never  lean  on  a  son's  again. 


200     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

The  summer  day  grew  cold  and  late. 

He  went  for  the  cows  when  the  work  was  done; 
But  down  the  lane,  as  he  opened  the  gate, 

He  saw  them  coming,  one  by  one,— * 

Brindle,  Ebony,  Speckle,  and  Bess, 

Shaking  their  horns  in  the  evening  wind; 

Cropping  the  buttercups  out  of  the  grass, — 
But  who  was  it  following  close  behind? 

Loosely  swung  in  the  idle  air 

The  empty  sleeve  of  army  blue ; 
And  worn  and  pale,  from  the  crisping  hair, 

Looked  out  a  face  that  the  father  knew. 

For  Southern  prisons  will  sometimes  yawn, 

And  yield  their  dead  unto  life  again ; 
And  the  day  that  comes  with  a  cloudy  dawn 

In  golden  glory  at  last  may  wane. 

The  great  tears  sprang  to  their  meeting  eyes ; 

For  the  heart  must  speak  when  the  lips  are  dumb; 
And  under  the  silent  evening  skies, 

Together  they  followed  the  cattle  home. 

KATE  PUTNAM  OSGOOD. 

From  Harper's  Magazine,  March,  1865,  by  permission  of  Har- 
per &  Brothers. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     201 


GETTYSBURG 

[Lee's  bold  incursion  through  the  Shenandoah  Valley,  across  the 
Potomac  into  Pennsylvania,  his  advance  to  Gettysburg,  where  he 
met  the  Union  forces  under  Gen.  George  G.  Meade  hastening  to 
confront  him,  and  the  unexampled  fierceness  of  the  three  days' 
battle  (July  1,  2  and  3,  1863),  have  remained  probably  the  most 
famous  conflict  of  the  war — resulting  in  Lee's  repulse  and  retreat, 
freeing  Northern  soil  from  the  terrors  of  invasion.} 

Fair  was  the  sight  that  peaceful  July  day 
And  sweet  the  air  with  scent  of  new  mown  hay, 
And  Gettysburg's  devoted  plain  serene 
Resplendent  shone  with  waves  of  emerald  green. 

The  western  heights,  where  close  embowered  stood 
The  sacred  shrine,  near  hidden  in  the  wood, 
Recked  not  of  war,  but  echoed  with  the  tread 
Of  God's  meek  messengers  of  peace,  who  led 
The  thoughts  from  earthly  things  to  things  above, 
And  taught  the  wayward  heart  that  God  is  love ; 
While  far  across  wide  fields  of  golden  grain 
Another  ridge  uprose  from  out  the  plain ; 
And  in  its  bosom,  freed  from  earthly  woes, 
The  dead  of  ages  lie  in  calm  repose. 

Two  bloody  days  across  the  stricken  field, 
Two  angry  hordes  in  ghastly  combat  reeled ; 
And  welcome  night  its  dusky  mantle  threw 
In  pitying  love  to  hide  the  scene  from  view. 

Again  the  bugle  with  its  piercing  call 

Awoke  the  soldier  from  deep  slumber's  thrall ; 

With  anxious  waiting,  nerved  by  conscious  power, 

All  stood  impatient  through  the  morning  hour, 

Till  from  the  throats  of  every  shotted  gun 

The  smoke  of  hell  obscured  the  blazing  sun ; 

Then  silence  deep,  and  every  soldier  knew 

The  charge  was  near,  and  tight  his  buckle  drew. 


202     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

Lo !  from  their  midst  a  stern  command,  and  then 
The  quick  advance  of  twenty  thousand  men; 
A  solid  line  of  veterans  clad  in  gray, 
(With  iron  nerves  and  earnest  for  the  fray. 

In  thought  a  new-born  nation  rose  to  sight, 
With  "stars  and  bars"  unfurled  in  glorious  light. 
On,  on,  they  came,  nor  faltered  in  their  tread, 
Each  man  a  hero — giants  at  their  head. 
We  stood  amazed  at  courage  so  sublime, 
No  braver  record  on  the  page  of  time. 

With  bristling  bayonets  glistening  in  the  sun, 
The  stubborn  ranks,  inspired  by  victories  won, 
Pressed  grimly  on,  unmindful  of  the  storm 
Of  shot  and  shell  that  felled  full  many  a  form ; 
The  maddened  roar  of  angry  cannon  massed 
Rocked  the  red  field  as  if  an  earthquake  passed. 

Still  on  they  come ;  the  gaps  they  quickly  close ; 
"Now  steady,  men !"  and  from  our  ranks  there  rose 
A  mighty  cry,  and  thick  the  leaden  hail 
Fell  on  the  wavering  lines.     "See !  now  they  quail !" 
"Strike !  strike !  for  freedom  and  your  native  land !" 
And  bayonets  clashed  in  conflicts  hand  to  hand ! 
Oh,  fierce  the  struggle :  but  they  break !  they  fly ! 
And  God  to  freedom  gives  the  victory. 

HORATIO  COLLINS  KING. 
By  courtesy  of  Mrs.  H.  C.  King. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     203 

THE  HIGH  TIDE  AT  GETTYSBURG 
[July  3,  1863] 

A  cloud  possessed  the  hollow  field, 

The  gathering  battle's  smoky  shield ; 
Athwart  the  gloom  the  lightning  flashed, 
And  through  the  cloud  some  horsemen  dashed, 

And  from  the  heights  the  thunder  pealed. 

Then,  at  the  brief  command  of  Lee, 
Moved  out  that  matchless  infantry, 

With  Pickett  leading  grandly  down, 

To  rush  against  the  roaring  crown 
Of  those  dread  heights  of  destiny. 

Far  heard  above  the  angry  guns, 
A  cry  across  the  tumult  runs, — 

The  voice  that  rang  through  Shiloh's  wood, 

And  Chickamauga's  solitudes, 
The  fierce  South  cheering  on  her  sons ! 

Ah,  how  the  withering  tempest  blew 

Against  the  front  of  Pettigrew ! 

A  Khamsin  wind  that  scorched  and  singed, 
Like  that  infernal  flame  that  fringed 

The  British  squares  at  Waterloo! 

A  thousand  fell  where  Kemper  led; 

A  thousand  died  where  Garnett  bled ; 
In  blinding  flame  and  strangling  smoke, 
The  remnant  through  the  batteries  broke, 

And  crossed  the  works  with  Armistead. 

"Once  more  in  Glory's  van  with  me  \" 

Virginia  cried  to  Tennessee: 

"We  two  together,  come  what  may, 
Shall  stand  upon  those  works  to-day !" 

The  reddest  day  in  history. 


204     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

Brave  Tennessee!    In  reckless  way 
Virginia  heard  her  comrade  say : 

"Close  round  this  rent  and  riddled  rag!" 

What  time  she  set  her  battle  flag 
Amid  the  guns  of  Doubleday. 

But  who  shall  break  the  guards  that  wait 

Before  the  awful  face  of  Fate? 

The  tattered  standards  of  the  South 
Were  shriveled  at  the  cannon's  mouth, 

And  all  her  hopes  were  desolate. 

In  vain  the  Tennesseean  set 
His  breast  against  the  bayonet ; 

In  vain  Virginia  charged  and  raged, 

A  tigress  in  her  wrath  uncaged, 
Till  all  the  hill  was  red  and  wet ! 

Above  the  bayonets,  mixed  and  crossed, 
Men  saw  a  gray,  gigantic  ghost 

Receding  through  the  battle-cloud, 

And  heard  across  the  tempest  loud 
The  death-cry  of  a  nation  lost ! 

The  brave  went  down!     Without  disgrace 

They  leaped  to  Ruin's  red  embrace ; 

They  only  heard  Fame's  thunders  wake, 
And  saw  the  dazzling  sunburst  break 

In  smiles  on  Glory's  bloody  face! 

They  fell,  who  lifted  up  a  hand 

And  bade  the  sun  in  heaven  to  stand ; 

They  smote  and  fell,  who  set  the  bars 

Against  the  progress  of  the  stars, 
And  stayed  the  march  of  Motherland. 

They  stood,  who  saw  the  future  come 
On  through  the  fight's  delirium ; 

They  smote  and  stood,  who  held  the  hope 

Of  nations  on  that  slippery  slope, 
Amid  the  cheers  of  Christendom! 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     205 

God  lives !  He  forged  the  iron  will 
That  clutched  and  held  that  trembling  hill ! 
God  lives  and  reigns !  He  built  and  lent 
The  heights  for  Freedom's  battlement, 
Where  floats  her  flag  in  triumph  still ! 

Fold  up  the  banners !  Smelt  the  guns ! 
Love  rules.    Her  gentler  purpose  runs. 

A  mighty  mother  turns  in  tears, 

The  pages  of  her  battle  years, 
Lamenting  all  her  fallen  sons ! 

WILL  HENRY  THOMPSON. 

By  courtesy  of  the  Author  and  permission  of  the  Century  Com- 
pany. 


206     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


BEFORE  VICKSBURG 

[Grant's  siege  of  Vicksburg,  on  the  Mississippi,  at  which  Sher- 
man was  his  mighty  right  hand,  from  May  18  to  July  3,  1863 — 
the  surrender  capping  the  great  Gettysburg  victory  on  the  same 
day — was  a  wonderful  season  of  brave  deeds,  both  for  besieged 
and  besiegers.] 

While  Sherman  stood  beneath  the  hottest  fire, 

That  from  the  lines  of  Vicksburg  gleamed, 
And  bomb-shells  tumbled  in  their  smoky  gyre, 
And  grape-shot  hissed,  and  case-shot  screamed ; 
Back  from  the  front  there  came, 
Weeping  and  sorely  lame, 
The  merest  child,  the  youngest  face 
Man  ever  saw  in  such  a  fearful  place. 

Stifling  his  tears,  he  limped  his  chief  to  meet ; 

But  when  he  paused,  and  tottering  stood, 
Around  the  circle  of  his  little  feet 

There  spread  a  pool  of  bright,  young  blood. 
Shocked  at  his  doleful  case, 
Sherman  cried :  "Halt !  front  face ! 
Who  are  you  ?   Speak,  my  gallant  boy  V9 
"A  drummer,  sir: — Fifty-fifth  Illinois." 

"Are  you  not  hit?"     "That's  nothing.     Only  send 

Some  cartridges ;  our  men  are  out ; 
And  the  foe  press  us."     "But,  my  little  friend — " 
"Don't  mind  me !   Did  you  hear  that  shout  ? 
What  if  our  men  be  driven? 
Oh,  for  the  love  of  Heaven, 
Send  to  my  Colonel,  General  dear !" 
"But  you?"    "Oh,  I  shall  easily  find  the  rear." 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     207 

"I'll  see  to  that,"  cried  Sherman ;  and  a  drop, 

Angels  might  envy,  dimmed  his  eye, 
As  the  boy,  toiling  towards  the  hill's  hard  top, 
Turned  round,  and  with  his  shrill  child's  cry 
Shouted,  "Oh,  don't  forget! 
We'll  win  the  battle  yet ! 
But  let  our  soldiers  have  some  more, 
More  cartridges,  sir — caliber  fifty-four !" 

GEORGE  HENRY  BOKER. 

By  permission  of  the  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  and  the  courtesy 
of  Mrs.  George  Boker. 


208     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


PUT  IT  THROUGH 

[The  year  1863  had  brought  notable  advance  for  the  Unionists; 
but  it  was  a  weary  task  to  win  against  a  brave  and  stubborn  foe, 
and  words  of  cheer  to  its  completion  came  in  timely  season,  early 
in  1864.] 

Come,  Freemen  of  the  land, 
Come,  meet  the  last  demand, — 
Here's  a  piece  of  work  in  hand; 

Put  it  through ! 
Here's  a  log  across  the  way, 
We  have  stumbled  on  all  day ; 
Here's  a  ploughshare  in  the  clay, — 

Put  it  through ! 

Here's  a  country  that's  half  free, 
And  it  waits  for  you  and  me 
To  say  what  its  fate  shall  be ; 

Put  it  through ! 

While  one  traitor  thought  remains, 
While  one  spot  its  banner  stains, 
One  link  of  all  its  chains, — 

Put  it  through ! 

Hear  our  brothers  in  the  field, 

Steel  your  swords  as  theirs  are  steeled, 

Learn  to  wield  the  arms  they  wield, — 

Put  it  through ! 

Lock  the  shop  and  lock  the  store, 
And  chalk  this  upon  the  door, — 
"We've  enlisted  for  the  war !" 

Put  it  through ! 

For  the  birthrights  yet  unsold, 
For  the  history  yet  untold, 
For  the  future  yet  unrolled, 
Put  it  through ! 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     209 

Lest  our  children  point  with  shame 
On  the  father's  dastard  fame, 
Who  gave  up  a  nation's  name, 
Put  it  through! 

EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 

By  permission  of  Messrs.  Little,  Brown  &  Company. 


210     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


MARCHING    THROUGH    GEORGIA 

[After  Grant  was  given  command  of  all  the  armies  (March, 
1864),  he  began  his  advance  on  Richmond,  and  sent  Sherman  to 
capture  Atlanta — done,  after  severe  campaigning  and  siege,  by 
September  2.  Then  Sherman  planned  to  march  across  Georgia  and 
to  capture  important  parts  of  the  seaboard:  duly  accomplished, 
Savannah  and  Charleston  falling  before  him.  The  song  celebrat- 
ing this  was  made  and  tune  composed  by  a  popular  young  song- 
writer of  Connecticut,  who  set  up  the  words  in  type  as  he  framed 
them.  The  tune  has  a  swing  that  keeps  it  a  favorite,  whether  for 
singing  or  marching.} 

Bring  the  good  old  bugle,  boys,  we'll  sing  another  song — 
Sing  it  with  a  spirit  that  will  start  the  world  along — 
Sing  it  as  we  used  to  sing  it  fifty  thousand  strong, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 

Chorus:  "Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  we  bring  the  jubilee ! 

Hurrah !  Hurrah !  the  flag  that  makes  you  free !" 
So  we  sang  the  chorus  from  Atlanta  to  the  sea, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 

How  the  darkeys  shouted  when  they  heard  the  joyful 

sound ! 

How  the  turkeys  gobbled  which  our  commissary  found! 
How  the  sweet  potatoes  even  started  from  the  ground, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 

Yes,  and  there  were  Union  men  who  wept  with  joyful 

tears, 
When  they  saw  the  honored  flag  they  had  not  seen  for 

years ; 
Hardly  could  they  be  restrained  from  breaking  forth  in 

cheers, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 

"Sherman's  dashing  Yankee  boys  will  never  reach  the 

coast !" 

So  the  saucy  rebels  said — and  'twas  a  handsome  boast, 
Had  they  not  forgot,  alas !  to  reckon  on  a  host, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     211 

So  we  made  a  thoroughfare  for  Freedom  and  her  train, 
Sixty  miles  in  latitude — three  hundred  to  the  main; 
Treason  fled  before  us,  for  resistance  was  in  vain, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 

HENRY  CLAY  WORK. 


212     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


WHEN  JOHNNY  COMES  MARCHING  HOME 

When  Johnny  comes  marching  home  again, 

Hurrah !   Hurrah ! 
We'll  give  him  a  hearty  welcome  then, 

Hurrah !   Hurrah ! 

The  men  will  cheer,  the  boys  will  shout, 
The  ladies  they  will  all  turn  out, 
And  we'll — all — feel — gay 
When  Johnny  comes  marching  home. 

The  old  church-bell  will  peal  with  joy, 

Hurrah !   Hurrah ! 
To  welcome  home  our  darling  boy, 

Hurrah !   Hurrah ! 
The  village  lads  and  lasses  say 
With  roses  they  will  strew  the  way ; 

And  we'll — all — feel — gay 
When  Johnny  comes  marching  home. 

Get  ready  for  the  jubilee ! 

Hurrah !   Hurrah ! 
We'll  give  the  hero  three  times  three, 

Hurrah !   Hurrah ! 
The  laurel  wreath  is  ready  now 
To  place  upon  his  loyal  brow, 

And  we'll — all — feel — gay 
When  Johnny  comes  marching  home. 

Let  love  and  friendship  on  that  day 

Hurrah !   Hurrah ! 
Their  choicest  treasures  then  display, 

Hurrah !    Hurrah ! 
And  let  each  one  perform  some  part 
To  fill  with  joy  the  warrior  heart, 

And  we'll — all — feel — gay 
When  Johnny  comes  marching  home. 

PATRICK  SARSFIELD  GILMORE. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     213 


CRAVEN 

[An  incident  of  the  battle  of  Mobile,  on  August  5,  1864,  when 
Admiral  Farragut  drove  his  fleet  in  bet^veen  two  ranges  of  forts. 
The  "Tecumseh"  in  the  lead,  was  torpedoed,  and  sank  with  most 
of  her  crew.  Captain  T.  A.  M.  Craven,  her  commander,  with  gal- 
lant courtesy,  also  went  to  his  death,  as  told  in  the  ballad.] 

Over  the  turret,  shut  in  his  ironclad  tower, 

Craven  was  conning  his  ship  through  smoke  and  flame ; 
Gun  to  gun  he  had  battered  the  fort  for  an  hour. 

Now  was  the  time  for  a  charge  to  end  the  game. 

There  lay  the  narrowing  channel,  smooth  and  grim, 
A  hundred  deaths  beneath  it,  and  never  a  sign ; 

There  lay  the  enemy's  ships,  and  sink  or  swim 
The  flag  was  flying,  and  he  was  head  of  the  line. 

The  fleet  behind  was  jamming:  the  monitor  hung 
Beating  the  stream ;  the  roar  for  a  moment  hushed ; 

Craven  spoke  to  the  pilot ;  slow  she  swung ; 

Again  he  spoke,  and  right  for  the  foe  she  rushed 

Into  the  narrowing  channel,  between  the  shore 
And  the  sunk  torpedoes  lying  in  treacherous  rank ; 

She  turned  but  a  yard  too  short ;  a  muffled  roar, 

A  mountainous  wave,  and  she  rolled,  righted,  and  sank. 

Over  the  manhole,  up.  in  the  ironclad  tower, 
Pilot  and  captain  met  as  they  turned  to  fly : 

The  hundredth  part  of  a  moment  seemed  an  hour, 
For  one  could  pass  to  be  saved,  and  one  must  die. 

They  stood  like  men  in  a  dream ;  Craven  spoke, — 

Spoke  as  he  lived  and  fought,  with  a  captain's  pride : 

"After  you,  Pilot."     The  pilot  woke, 

Down  the  ladder  he  went,  and  Craven  died. 


214     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

All  men  praise  the  deed  and  the  manner;  but  we — 
We  set  it  apart  from  the  pride  that  stoops  to  the  proud, 

The  strength  that  is  supple  to  serve  the  strong  and  free, 
The  grace  of  the  empty  hands  and  promises  loud ; 

Sidney  thirsting  a  humbler  need  to  slake, 

Nelson  waiting  his  turn  for  the  surgeon's  hand, 

Lucas  crushed  with  chains  for  a  comrade's  sake, 
Outram  coveting  right  before  command, 

These  were  paladins,  these  were  Craven's  peers, 
These  with  him  shall  be  crowned  in  story  and  song, 

Crowned  with  the  glitter  of  steel  and  the  glimmer  of  tears, 
Princes  of  courtesy,  merciful,  proud,  and  strong. 

HENRY  NEWBOLT. 

By  permission  of  the  John  Lane  Company. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     215 


SHERIDAN'S  RIDE 

[A  second  attempt  by  Lee  to  invade  the  North  through  the 
Shenandoah  Valley  was  checked  by  General  Philip  Sheridan  at 
Cedar  Creek,  September  19,  1864.  Leaving  his  army  at  Cedar 
Creek,  the  General  had  hastened  to  Washington  on  a  needful 
errand  and  returned  to  Winchester  on  October  18.  Early  next 
morning  he  heard  the  echoes  of  new  fighting,  rode  swiftly  to  the 
field,  and  found  his  forces  retreating — but  rallied  them  to  a  full 
victory.] 

Up  from  the  South  at  break  of  day, 
Bringing  to  Winchester  fresh  dismay, 
The  affrighted  air  with  a  shudder  bore, 
Like  a  herald  in  haste,  to  the  chieftain's  door, 
The  terrible  grumble  and  rumble  and  roar, 
Telling  the  battle  was  on  once  more, 
And  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 

And  wider  still  those  billows  of  war 
Thundered  along  the  horizon's  bar; 
And  louder  yet  into  Winchester  rolled 
The  roar  of  that  red  sea  uncontrolled, 
Making  the  blood  of  the  listener  cold 
As  he  thought  of  the  stake  in  that  fiery  fray, 
With  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 

But  there  is  a  road  from  Winchester  town, 
A  good,  broad  highway,  leading  down ; 
And  there,  through  the  flash  of  the  morning  light, 
A  steed  as  black  as  the  steeds  of  night 
Was  seen  to  pass  as  with  eagle  flight; 
As  if  he  knew  the  terrible  need, 
He  stretched  away  with  his  utmost  speed; 
Hills  rose  and  fell, — but  his  heart  was  gay, 
With  Sheridan  fifteen  miles  away. 


216     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

Still   sprang  from  those  swift  hoofs,  thundering 

South, 

The  dust,  like  smoke  from  the  cannon's  mouth, 
Or  the  trail  of  a  comet,  sweeping  faster  and  faster, 
Foreboding  to  traitors  the  doom  of  disaster. 
The  heart  of  the  steed  and  the  heart  of  the  master 
Were  beating,  like  prisoners  assaulting  their  walls, 
Impatient  to  be  where  the  battle-field  calls ; 
Every  nerve  of  the  charger  was  strained  to  full  play, 
With  Sheridan  only  ten  miles  away. 

Under  his  spurning  feet,  the  road 
Like  an  arrowy  Alpine  river  flowed, 
And  the  landscape  sped  away  behind, 
Like  an  ocean  flying  before  the  wind ; 
And  the  steed,  like  a  bark  fed  with  furnace  ire, 
Swept  on,  with  his  wild  eye  full  of  fire ; 
But,  lo !  he  is  nearing  his  heart's  desire ; 
He  is  snuffing  the  smoke  of  the  roaring  fray, 
With  Sheridan  only  five  miles  away. 

The  first  that  the  general  saw  were  the  groups 
Of  stragglers,  and  then  the  retreating  troops ; 
What  was  done  ?  what  to  do  ?  a  glance  told  him  both. 
Then,  striking  his  spurs  with  a  terrible  oath, 
He  dashed  down  the  line  'mid  a  storm  of  huzzas, 
And  the  wave  of  retreat  checked  its  course  there, 

because 

The  sight  of  the  master  compelled  it  to  pause. 
With  foam  and  with  dust  the  black  charger  was 

gray; 

By  the  flash  of  his  eye,  and  the  red  nostrils'  play, 
He  seemed  to  the  whole  great  army  to  say : 
"I  have  brought  you  Sheridan  all  the  way 

From  Winchester  down  to  save  the  day !" 

Hurrah!  hurrah  for  Sheridan! 
Hurrah!  hurrah  for  horse  and  man! 
And  when  their  statues  are  placed  on  high, 
Under  the  dome  of  the  Union  sky, 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     217 

The  American  soldier's  Temple  of  Fame, 
There  with  the  glorious  general's  name, 
Be  it  said  in  letters  both  bold  and  bright : 
"Here  is  the  steed  that  saved  the  day 
By  carrying  Sheridan  into  the  fight, 

From  Winchester, — twenty  miles  away !" 

THOMAS  BUCHANAN  READ. 
By  permission  of  the  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company. 


218     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


LAUS  DEO! 

[The  military  wisdom  and  the  moral  power  of  Emancipation 
had  been  confirmed  by  its  consequences;  and  on  January  31,  1865, 
Congress  passed  a  Constitutional  Amendment  forever  abolishing 
slavery  in  the  United  States.  Received  with  great  rejoicing  by  the 
North  generally,  for  nearly  a  year  its  completion  hung  fire,  until 
on  December  18,  1865,  its  ratification  by  the  States  was  an- 
nounced.] 

[On  hearing  the  bells  ring  on  the  passage  of  the  Constitutional 
Amendment  abolishing  Slavery.] 

It  is  done ! 

Clang  of  bell  and  roar  of  gun 
Send  the  tidings  up  and.  down. 

How  the  belfries  rock  and  reel ! 

How  the  great  guns,  peal  on  peal, 
Fling  the  joy  from  town  to  town! 

Ring,   O   bells! 

Every  stroke  exulting  tells 
Of  the  burial  hour  of  crime. 

Loud  and  long,  that  all  may  hear, 

Ring  for  every  listening  ear 
Of  Eternity  and  Time ! 

Let  us  kneel : 
God's  own  voice  is  in  that  peal, 

And  this  spot  is  holy  ground. 
Lord,  forgive  us  !  What  are  we, 
That  our  eyes  this  glory  see, 

That  our  ears  have  heard  the  sound! 

For  the  Lord 

On  the  whirlwind  is  abroad ; 
In  the  earthquake  he  has  spoken ; 

He  has  smitten  with  His  thunder 

The  iron  walls  asunder, 
And  the  gates  of  brass  are  broken! 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     219 

Loud  and  long 
Lift  the  old  exulting  song; 
Sing  with  Miriam  by  the  sea, 
He  has  cast  the  mighty  down ; 
Horse  and  rider  sing  and  drown; 
"He  hath  triumphed  gloriously!" 


Did  we  dare, 

In  our  agony  of  prayer, 
Ask  for  more  than  He  has  done? 

When  was  ever  His  right  hand 

Over  any  time  or  land 
Stretched  as  now  beneath  the  sun  ? 

How  they  pale, 
Ancient  myth  and  song  and  tale, 

In  this  wonder  of  our  days, 
When  the  cruel  rod  of  war 
Blossoms  white  with  righteous  law, 

And  the  wrath  of  man  is  praise ! 

Blotted  out ! 

All  within  and  all  about 
Shall  a  fresher  life  begin; 

Freer  breathe  the  universe 

As  it  rolls  its  heavy  curse 
On  the  dead  and  buried  sin! 


It  is  done ! 
In  the  circuit  of  the  sun 

Shall  the  sound  thereof  go  forth. 
It  shall  bid  the  sad  rejoice, 
It  shall  give  the  dumb  a  voice, 

It  shall  belt  with  joy  the  earth! 


220     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

Ring  and  swing, 
Bells  of  joy!  On  morning's  wing 
Send  the  sound  of  praise  abroad! 
With  a  sound  of  broken  chains 
Tell  the  nations  that  He  reigns, 
Who  alone  is  Lord  and  God! 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     221 


THE  YEAR   OF   JUBILEE 

Negro  troops  entering  Richmond 

[The  month  of  April,  1865,  saw  the  most  memorable  events  of 
that  great  period:  On  the  6th,  the  fall  of  Richmond  and  its  occu- 
pation by  Union  soldiers — the  most  gleeful  being  the  colored 
troops;  on  the  9th,  the  surrender  of  Lee  to  Grant  at  Appomattox; 
and  on  the  evening  of  the  14th,  the  shocking  assassination  of  Pres- 
ident Lincoln.  As  Henry  Ward  Beecher  phrased  the  experience: 
"Did  ever  so  many  hearts,  in  so  brief  a  time,  touch  two  such 
boundless  feelings?  It  was  the  uttermost  of  joy;  it  was  the  utter- 
most of  sorrow: — noon  and  midnight,  without  a  space  between!"] 

Say,  darkeys,  hab  you  seen  de  massa, 

Wid  de  muffstash  on  he  face, 
Go  long  de  road  some  time  dis  mornin', 

Like  he  gwine  leabe  de  place? 
He  see  de  smoke  way  up  de  ribber 
Whar  de  Lincum  gunboats  lay ; 
He  took  he  hat  an'  leff  berry  sudden, 
And  I  spose  he's  runned  away. 
De  massa  run,  ha,  ha ! 
De  darkey  stay,  ho,  ho! 
It  mus'  be  now  de  kingdom  comin', 
An'  de  yar  ob  jubilo. 

He  six  foot  one  way  an'  two  foot  todder, 

An'  he  weigh  six  hundred  poun' ; 
His  coat  so  big  he  could  n't  pay  de  tailor, 

An'  it  won't  reach  half  way  roun' ; 
He  drill  so  much  dey  calls  him  cap'n, 

And'  he  git  so  mighty  tanned, 
I  spec  he'll  try  to  fool  dem  Yankees, 
For  to  tink  he  contraband. 
De  massa  run,  ha,  ha! 
De  darkey  stay,  ho,  ho! 
It  mus'  be  now  de  kingdum  comin', 
An'  de  yar  ob  jubilo. 


222     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

De  darkeys  got  so  lonesome  libb'n 

In  de  log  hut  on  de  lawn, 
Dey  moved  dere  tings  into  massa' s  parlor 

For  to  keep  it  while  he  gone. 
Dar's  wine  an'  cider  in  de  kitchin, 

An'  de  darkeys  dey  hab  some, 
I  spec  it  will  be  all  fiscated, 
When  de  Lincum  sojers  come, 
De  massa  run,  ha,  ha! 
De  darkey  stay,  ho,  ho! 
It  mus'  be  now  de  kingdum  comin*, 
An'  de  yar  ob  jubilo. 

De  oberseer  he  makes  us  trubble, 
An'  he  dribe  us  roun'  a  spell, 
We  lock  him  up  in  de  smoke-house  cellar, 

Wid  de  key  flung  in  de  well. 
De  whip  am  lost,  de  han'-cufl  broke, 

But  de  massy  hab  his  pay; 
He  big  an'  ole  enough  for  to  know  better 
Dan  to  went  an'  run  away. 
De  massa  run,  ha,  ha! 
De  darkey  stay,  ho,  ho! 
It  mus'  be  now  de  kingdum  cornin', 
An'  de  yar  ob  jubilo. 

HENRY  CLAY  WORK. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     223 


THE  SURRENDER  AT  APPOMATTOX 

As  billows  upon  billows  roll, 
On  victory  victory  breaks ; 
Ere  yet  seven  days  from  Richmond's  fall 

And  crowning  triumph  wakes 
The  loud  joy-gun,  whose  thunders  run 
By  sea-shore,  streams,  and  lakes. 
The  hope  and  great  event  agree 
In  the  sword  that  Grant  received  from  Lee. 

The  warring  eagles  fold  the  wing, 

But  not  in  Caesar's  sway ; 
Not  Rome  o'ercome  by  Roman  arms  we  sing, 

As  on  Pharsalia's  day, 

But  Treason  thrown,  though  a  giant  grown, 
And  Freedom's  larger  play. 
All  human  tribes  glad  token  see 
In  the  close  of  the  wars  of  Grant  and  Lee. 

HERMAN  MELVILLE. 

By  permission  of  the  Messrs.  Harper  &  Brothers. 


224     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


LINCOLN,   THE    MAN   OF   THE   PEOPLE1 

When  the  Norn  Mother  saw  the  Whirlwind  Hour 
Greatening  and  darkening  as  it  hurried  on, 
She  left  the  Heaven  of  Heroes  and  came  down 
To  make  a  man  to  meet  the  mortal  need. 
She  took  the  tried  clay  of  the  common  road- 
Clay  warm  yet  with  the  genial  heat  of  Earth, 
Dashed  through  it  all  a  strain  of  prophecy ; 
Tempered  the  heap  with  thrill  of  human  tears ; 
Then  mixed  a  laughter  with  the  serious  stuff. 
Into  the  shape  she  breathed  a  flame  to  light 
That  tender,  tragic,  ever-changing  face; 
And  laid  on  him  a  sense  of  the  Mystic  Powers, 
Moving — all  hushed — behind  the  mortal  veil. 
Here  was  a  man  to  hold  against  the  world, 
A  man  to  match  the  mountains  and  the  sea. 

The   color  of  the  ground  was  in  him,   the  red  earth; 

The  smack  and  tang  of  elemental  things : 

The  rectitude  and  patience  of  the  cliff; 

The  good-will  of  the  rain  that  loves  all  leaves ; 

The  friendly  welcome  of  the  wayside  well; 

The  courage  of  the  bird  that  dares  the  sea ; 

The  gladness  of  the  wind  that  shakes  the  corn; 

The  pity  of  the  snow  that  hides  all  scars; 

The  secrecy  of  streams  that  make  their  way 

Under  the  mountain  to  the  rifted  rock; 

The  tolerance  and  equity  of  light 

That  gives  as  freely  to  the  shrinking  flower 

As  to  the  great  oak  flaring  to  the  wind — 

To  the  grave's  low  hill  as  to  the  Matterhorn 

That  shoulders  out  the  sky.     Sprung  from  the  West, 

He  drank  the  valorous  youth  of  a  new  world. 

The  strength  of  virgin  forests  braced  his  mind, 

The  hush  of  spacious  prairies  stilled  his  soul. 

His  words  were  oaks  in  acorns;  and  his  thoughts 

Were  roots  that  firmly  gripped  the  granite  truth. 

1  Copyright  by  Edwin  Markham,  1919.     Used  by  permission  0*1 
the  author 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     225 

Up  from  log  cabin  to  the  Capitol, 
One  fire  was  on  his  spirit,  one  resolve — 
To  send  the  keen  ax  to  the  root  of  wrong, 
Clearing  a  free  way  for  the  feet  of  God, 
The  eyes  of  conscience  testing  every  stroke, 
To  make  his  deed  the  measure  of  a  man. 
He  built  the  rail-pile  as  he  built  the  State, 
Pouring  his  splendid  strength  through  every  blow : 
The  grip  that  swung  the  ax  in  Illinois 
Was  on  the  pen  that  set  a  people  free. 

So  came  the  Captain  with  the  mighty  heart ; 
And  when  the  judgment  thunders  split  the  house, 
Wrenching  the  rafters  from  their  ancient  rest, 
He  held  the  ridgepole  up,  and  spiked  again 
The  rafters  of  the  Home.    He  held  his  place — 
Held  the  long  purpose  like  a  growing  tree — 
Held  on  through  blame  and  faltered  not  at  praise. 
And  when  he  fell  in  whirlwind,  he  went  down 
As  when  a  lordly  cedar,  green  with  boughs, 
Goes  down  with  a  great  shout  upon  the  hills, 
And  leaves  a  lonesome  place  against  the  sky. 

EDWIN  MARKHAM. 


226     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


O  CAPTAIN!   MY  CAPTAIN! 

O  Captain !  my  Captain !  our  fearful  trip  is  done, 

The  ship  has  weathered  every  rack,  the  prize  we  sought  is 

won, 

The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people  all  exulting, 
While  follow  eyes  the  steady  keel,  the  vessel  grim  and 

daring; 
But  O  heart!  heart!  heart! 

O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red, 
Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 

Fallen  cold  and  dead. 

O  Captain !  my  Captain !  rise  up  and  hear  the  bells ; 
Rise  up — for  you  the  flag  is  flung — for  you  the  bugle  trills, 
For  you  bouquets   and   ribboned  wreaths — for  you  the 

shores  a-crowding, 
For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their  eager  faces 

turning : 
Here  Captain !  dear  father ! 

This  arm  beneath  your  head !    . 
It  is  some  dream  that  on  the  deck 

You've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 

My  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips  are  pale  and  still, 
My  father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has  no  pulse  nor  will, 
The  ship  is  anchored  safe  and  sound,  its  voyage  closed 

and  done, 
From  fearful  trip  the  victor  ship  comes  in  with  object 

won; 
Exult  O  shores,  and  ring  O  bells! 

But  I  with  mournful  tread, 
Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 

WALT  WHITMAN. 

By  permission  of  the  David  Mackay  Company. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     227 

OUR   MARTYR-CHIEF 

FROM  THE  "HARVARD  COMMEMORATION  ODE" 
July  21,  1865 

Life  may  be  given  in  many  ways, 
And  loyalty  to  Truth  be  sealed 
As  bravely  in  the  closet  as  the  field, 
So  bountiful  is  Fate ; 
But  then  to  stand  beside  her, 
When  craven  churls  deride  her, 
To  front  a  lie  in  arms  and  not  to  yield, 
This  shows,  methinks,  God's  plan 
And  measure  of  a  stalwart  man, 
Limbed  like  the  old  heroic  breeds, 
Who  stands  self -poised  on  manhood's  solid  earth, 
Not  forced  to  frame  excuses  for  his  birth, 
Fed  from  within  with  all  the  strength  he  needs. 

Such  was  he,  our  Martyr-Chief, 

Whom  late  the  Nation  he  had  led, 

With  ashes  on  her  head, 
Wept  with  the  passion  of  an  angry  grief : 
Forgive  me,  if  from  present  things  I  turn 
To  speak  what  in  my  heart  will  beat  and  burn, 
And  hang  my  wreath  on  his  world-honored  urn. 

Nature,  they  say,  doth  dote, 

And  cannot  make  a  man 

Save  on  some  worn-out  plan, 

Repeating  us 'by  rote: 
For  him  her  Old- World  moulds  aside  she  threw, 

And,  choosing  sweet  clay  from  the  breast 

Of  the  unexhausted  West, 
With  stuff  untainted  shaped  a  hero  new, 
Wise,  steadfast  in  the  strength  of  God,  and  true. 

How  beautiful  to  see 


228     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

Once  more  a  shepherd  of  mankind  indeed, 
Who  loved  his  charge,  but  never  loved  to  lead ; 
One  whose  meek  flock  the  people  joyed  to  be, 
Not  lured  by  any  cheat  of  birth, 
But  by  his  clear-grained  human  worth, 
And  brave  old  wisdom  of  sincerity ! 

They  knew  that  outward  grace  is  dust ; 
They  could  not  choose  but  trust 
In  that  sure-footed  mind's  unfaltering  skill, 

And  supple-tempered  will 

That  bent  like  perfect  steel  to  spring  again  and  thrust. 
His  was  no  lonely  mountain-peak  of  mind 
Thrusting  to  thin  air  o'er  our  cloudy  bars, 
A  sea-mark  now,  now  lost  in  vapors  blind; 
Broad  prairie  rather,  genial,  level-lined, 
Fruitful  and  friendly  for  all  human  kind, 
Yet  also  nigh  to  heaven  and  loved  of  loftiest  stars. 

Nothing  of  Europe  here, 

Or,  then,  of  Europe  fronting  mornward  still, 
Ere  any  names  of  Serf  and  Peer 
Could  Nature's  equal  scheme  deface 
And  thwart  her  genial  will ; 
Here  was  a  type  of  the  true  elder  race, 
And  one  of  Plutarch's  men  talked  with  us  face  to  face. 

I  praise  him  not;  it  were  too  late; 
And  some  innative  weakness  there  must  be 
In  him  who  condescends  to  victory 
Such  as  the  Present* gives,  and  cannot  wait, 
Safe  in  himself  as  in  a  fate. 
So  always  firmly  he : 
He  knew  to  bide  his  time, 
And  can  his  fame  abide, 
Still  patient  in  his  simple  faith  sublime, 

Till  the  wise  years  decide. 
Great  captains,  with  their  guns  and  drums, 
Disturb  our  judgment  for  the  hour, 

But  at  last  silence  comes ; 
These  all  are  gone,  and,  standing  like  a  tower. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     229 

Our  children  shall  behold  his  fame, 

The  kindly-earnest,  brave,  foreseeing  man, 

Sagacious,  patient,  dreading  praise  nor  blame, 
New  birth  of  our  new  soil,  the  first  American. 

Bow  down,  dear  Land,  for  thou  hast  found  release ! 
Thy  God,  in  these  distempered  days, 
Hath  taught  thee  the  sure  wisdom  of  His  ways, 
And  through  thine  enemies  hath  wrought  thy  peace! 

Bow  down  in  prayer  and  praise ! 
No  poorest  in  thy  borders  but  may  now 
Lift  to  the  juster  skies  a  man's  enfranchised  brow. 
O  Beautiful !  my  Country !  ours  once  more ! 
Smoothing  thy  gold  of  war-disheveled  hair 
O'er  such  sweet  brows  as  never  other  wore, 

And  letting  thy  set  lips, 
Freed  from  wrath's  pale  eclipse, 
The  rosy  edges  of  their  smile  lay  bare, 
What  words  divine  of  lover  or  of  poet 
Could  tell  our  love  and  make  thee  know  it, 
Among  the  Nations  bright  beyond  compare?     ' 
What  were  our  lives  without  thee? 
What  all  our  lives  to  save  thee? 
We  reck  not  what  we  gave  thee ; 
We  will  not  dare  to  doubt  thee, 
But  ask  whatever  else,  and  we  will  dare ! 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


230     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


ABRAHAM   LINCOLN 

You  lay  a  wreath  on  murdered  Lincoln's  bier, 
You,  who,  with  mocking  pencil,  wont  to  trace, 

Broad  for  the  self -complaisant  British  sneer, 
His  length  of  shambling  limb,  his  furrowed  face, 

His  gaunt,  gnarled  hands,  his  unkempt,  bristling  hair, 
His  garb  uncouth,  his  bearing  ill  at  ease, 

His  lack  of  all  we  prize  as  debonair, 

Of  power  or  will  to  shine,  of  art  to  please ; 

You,  whose  smart  pen  backed  up  the  pencil's  laugh, 
Judging  each  step  as  though  the  way  were  plain ; 

Reckless,  so  it  could  point  its  paragraph 
Of  chief's  perplexity,  or  people's  pain, — 

Beside  this  corpse,  that  bears  for  winding-sheet 
The  Stars  and  Stripes  he  lived  to  rear  anew, 

Between  the  mourners  at  his  head  and  feet, 
Say,  scurrile  jester,  is  there  room  for  you? 

Yes,  he  had  lived  to  shame  me  from  my  sneer, 
To  lame  my  pencil,  and  confute  my  pen  ; 

To  make  me  own  this  hind  of  Princes  peer, 
This  rail-splitter  a  true-born  king  of  men. 

My  shallow  judgment  I  had  learned  to  rue, 
Noting  how  to  occasion's  height  he  rose, 

How  his  quaint  wit  made  home-truth  seem  more  true, 
How,  iron-like,  his  temper  grew  by  blows ; 

How  humble,  yet  how  hopeful,  he  could  be  ; 

How,  in  good  fortune  and  in  ill,  the  same ; 
Nor  bitter  in  success,  nor  boastful  he, 

Thirsty  for  gold,  nor  feverish  for  fame. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     231 

He  went  about  his  work — such  work  as  few 
Ever  had  laid  on  head  and  heart  and  hand — 

As  one  who  knows,  where  there's  a  task  to  do, 

Man's  honest  will  must  Heaven's  good  grace  command ; 

Who  trusts  the  strength  will  with  the  burden  grow, 
That  God  makes  instruments  to  work  His  will, 

If  but  that  will  we  can  arrive  to  know, 

Nor  tamper  with  the  weights  of  good  and  ill. 

So  he  went  forth  to  battle,  on  the  side 

That  he  felt  clear  was  Liberty's  and  Right's, 

As  in  his  peasant  boyhood  he  had  plied 

His  warfare  with  rude  Nature's  thwarting  mights, — 

The  uncleared  forest,  the  unbroken  soil, 
The  iron  bark  that  turns  the  lumberer's  axe, 

The  rapid,  that  o'erbears  the  boatman's  toil, 
The  prairie,  hiding  the  mazed  wanderer's  tracks, 

The  ambushed  Indian,  and  the  prowling  bear, — 

Such  were  the  needs  that  helped  his  youth  to  train : 

Rough  culture — but  such  trees  large  fruit  may  bear, 
If  but  their  stocks  be  of  right  girth  and  grain. 

So  he  grew  up,  a  destined  work  to  do, 

And  lived  to  do  it :  four  long-suffering  years' 

Ill-fate,  ill-feeling,  ill-report,  lived  through, 
And  then  he  heard  the  hisses  change  to  cheers, 

The  taunts  to  tribute,  the  abuse  to  praise, 

And  took  both  with  the  same  unwavering  mood; 

Till,  as  he  came  on  light,  from  darkling  days, 

And  seemed  to  touch  the  goal  from  where  he  stood, 

A  felon  hand,  between  the  goal  and  him, 

Reached  from  behind  his  back,  a  trigger  prest — 

And  those  perplexed  and  patient  eyes  were  dim, 
Those  gaunt,  long-laboring  limbs  were  laid  to  rest. 


232     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 

The  words  of  mercy  were  upon  his  lips, 

Forgiveness  in  his  heart  and  on  his  pen, 
When  this  vile  murderer  brought  swift  eclipse 

To  thoughts  of  peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men. 

The  Old  World  and  the  New,  from  sea  to  sea, 
Utter  one  voice  of  sympathy  and  shame. 

Sore  heart,  so  stopped  when  it  at  last  beat  high ! 
Sad  life,  cut  short  just  as  its  triumph  came ! 

A  deed  accurst !  Strokes  have  been  struck  before 
By  the  assassin's  hand,  whereof  men  doubt 

If  more  of  horror  or  disgrace  they  bore; 

But  thy  foul  crime,  like  Cain's,  stands  darkly  out, 

Vile  hand,  that  brandest  murder  on  a  strife, 
Whate'er  its  grounds,  stoutly  and  nobly  striven, 

And  with  the  martyr's  crown,  crownest  a  life 
With  much  to  praise,  little  to  be  forgiven. 

TOM  TAYLOR,  Editor  of  Punch,  London. 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     233 


ROBERT   E.   LEE 

[Read  at  the  Richmond  celebration  of  the  one  hundredth  anni- 
versary of  General  Lee's  birth,  January  19,  1907.  He  died.  Octo- 
ber 12,  1870.] 

A  gallant  foeman  in  the  fight, 

A  brother  when  the  fight  was  o'er, 

The  hand  that  led  the  host  with  might 
The  blessed  torch  of  learning  bore. 

No  shrieks  of  shells  nor  roll  of  drums, 
No  challenge  fierce,  resounding  far, 

When  reconciling  Wisdom  comes 
To  heal  the  cruel  wounds  of  war. 

Thought  may  the  minds  of  men  divide, 
Love  makes  the  hearts  of  nations  one ; 

And  so,  thy  soldier  grave  beside, 
We  honor  thee,  Virginia's  son. 

JULIA  WARD  HOWE. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghtpn 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


234     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


THE  CONQUERED  BANNER 

Furl  that  Banner,  for  't  is  weary ; 
Round  its  staff  't  is  drooping  dreary; 

Furl  it,  fold  it — it  is  best ; 
For  there's  not  a  man  to  wave  it, 
And  there's  not  a  sword  to  save  it, 
And  there's  not  one  left  to  lave  it 
In  the  blood  which  heroes  gave  it ; 
And  its  foes  now  scorn  and  brave  it; 

Furl  it,  hide  it— let  it  rest ! 

Take  that  Banner  down !  't  is  tattered; 
Broken  is  its  staff  and  shattered, 
And  the  valiant  hosts  are  scattered 

Over  whom  it  floated  high, 
Oh,  't  is  hard  for  us  to  fold  it, 
Hard  to  think  there's  none  to  hold  it, 
Hard  that  those  who  once  unrolled  it 

Now  must  furl  it  with  a  sigh ! 

Furl  that  Banner — furl  it  sadly; 
Once  ten  thousands  hailed  it  gladly, 
And  ten  thousands  wildly,  madly 

Swore  it  should  forever  wave — 
Swore  that  foeman's  sword  should  never 
Hearts  like  theirs  entwined  dissever, 
And  that  flag  should  float  forever 

O'er  their  freedom,  or  their  grave! 

Furl  it !  for  the  hands  that  grasped  it, 
And  the  hearts  that  fondly  clasped  it, 

Cold  and  dead  are  lying  low ; 
And  that  Banner — it  is  trailing, 
While  around  it  sounds  the  wailing 

Of  its  people  in  their  woe; 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     235 

For,  though  conquered,  they  adore  it — 
Love  the  cold,  dead  hands  that  bore  it! 
Weep  for  those  who  fell  before  it ! 
Pardon  those  who  trailed  and  tore  it! 
But,  oh,  wildly  they  deplore  it, 
Now  who  furl  and  fold  it  so ! 

Furl  that  Banner !  True,  't  is  gory, 
Yet  't  is  wreathed  around  with  glory, 
And  Jt  will  live  in  song  and  story 

Though  its  folds  are  in  the  dust ! 
For  its  fame  on  brightest  pages, 
Penned  by  poets  and  by  sages, 
Shall  go  sounding  down  the  ages — 

Furl  its  folds  though  now  we  must! 

Furl  that  Banner,  softly,  slowly; 
Treat  it  gently — it  is  holy, 

For  it  droops  above  the  dead ; 
Touch  it  not — unfold  it  never; 
Let  it  droop  there,  furled  forever, — 

For  its  people's  hopes  are  fled. 

ABRAM  JOSEPH  RYAN  ("FATHER  RYAN.") 

By  permission  of  Messrs.  P.  T.  Kenedy  &  Sons. 


236     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 
DOER    OF    HOPELESS    TASKS 

FROM    "ON    A    BUST    OF    GENERAL    GRANT" 

Strong,  simple,  silent  are  the  [steadfast]  laws 

That  sway  this  universe,  of  none  withstood, 

Unconscious  of  man's  outcries  or  applause, 

Or  what  man  deems  his  evil  or  his  good ; 

And  when  the  Fates  ally  them  with  a  cause 

That  wallows  in  the  sea-trough  and  seems  lost, 

Drifting  in  danger  of  the  reefs  and  sands 

Of  shallow  counsels,  this  way,  that  way  tost, 

Strength,  silence,  simpleness,  of  these  three  strands 

They  twist  the  cable  shall  the  world  hold  fast 

To  where  its  anchors  clutch  the  bed-rock  of  the  past. 

Strong,  simple,  silent  therefore  such  was  he 

Who  helped  us  in  our  need ;  the  eternal  law 

That  who  can  saddle  Opportunity 

Is  God's  elect,  though  many  a  mortal  flaw 

May  minish  him  in  eyes  that  closely  see, 

Was  verified  in  him:  what  need  we  say 

Of  one  who  made  success  where  others  failed, 

Who,  with  no  light  save  that  of  common  day, 

Struck  hard,  and  still  struck  on  till  Fortune  quailed, 

But  that  (so  sift  the  Norns)  a  desperate  van 

Ne'er  fell  at  last  to  one  who  was  not  wholly  man. 

Nothing  ideal,  a  plain  people's  man 

At  the  first  glance,  a  more  deliberate  ken 

Finds  type  primeval,  those  in  whose  veins  ran 

Such  blood  as  quelled  the  dragon  in  his  den, 

Made  harmless  fields,  and  better  worlds  began; 

He  came  grim-silent,  saw  and  did  the  deed 

That  was  to  do ;  in  his  master-grip 

Our  sword  flashed  joy;  no  skill  of  words  could  breed 

Such  sure  conviction  as  that  close-clamped  lip; 


SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED?     237 

He  slew  our  dragon,  nor,  so  seemed  it,  knew 

He  had  done  more  than  any  simplest  man  could  do. 

Doer  of  hopeless  tasks  which  praters  shirk, 
One  of  those  still  plain  men  that  do  the  world's  rough 
work. 

JAMES  RUSSELL  La  WELL. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


238     SECESSION  OR  UNION  PRESERVED? 


THE  STATUE  OF  SHERMAN 

BY   ST.    GAUDENS 

This  is  the  soldier  brave  enough  to  tell 
The  glory-dazzled  world  that  'war  is  hell'; 
Lover  of  peace,  he  looks  beyond  the  strife, 
And  rides  through  hell  to  save  his  country's  life. 

HENRY  VAN  DYKE. 

From   "Music  and   Other   Poems,"   by   permission   of   Charles 
Scribner's  Sons. 


V 

THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 


AMERICA'S    FUTURE 

FROM  "AS  A  STRONG  BIRD  ON  PINIONS  FREE"'' 
1872 

Brain  of  the  New  World!  what  a  task  is  thine! 

To    formulate   the   modern    .    .    .   out    of    the    peerless 

grandeur  of  the  modern, 
Out  of  Thyself — comprising  Science — to  recast  Poems, 

Churches,  Art, 
(Recast — maybe  discard  them,  end  them — Maybe  their 

work  is  done — who  knows  ?) 
By  vision,  hand,  conceptions  on  the  background  of  the 

mighty  past,  the  dead, 
To  liven,  with  absolute  faith  the  mighty  living  present. 

Sail — sail  thy  best,  ship  of  Democracy! 

Of  value  is  thy  freight — 'tis  not  the  Present  only, 

The  Past  is  also  stored  in  thee ! 

Thou  holdest  not  the  venture  of  thyself  alone, — not  of 

thy  Western  continent  alone; 
Earth's   resume  entire   floats   on  thy  keel,   O    Ship — is 

steadied  by  thy  spars ; 
With  thee  Time  voyages  in  trust — the  antecedent  nations 

sink  or  swim  with  thee ; 
With  all  their  ancient  struggles,  martyrs,  heroes,  epics, 

wars,  thou  bear'st  the  other  continents ; 
Theirs,    theirs    as   much    as    thine,    the    destination-port 

triumphant ; 

239 


240       THE    GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE 

— Steer,  steer  with  good  strong  hand  and  wary  eye,  O 

helmsman — thou  carriest  great  companions, 
Venerable  priestly  Asia  sails  this  day  with  thee 
And  royal  feudal  Europe  sails  with  thee. 

Thou  wonder-world,   yet  undefined,   unformed — neither 
do  I  define  thee; 

How  can  I  pierce  the  unpenetrable  blank  of  the  future? 

I  feel  thy  ominous  greatness,  evil  as  well  as  good ; 

I   watch   thee   advancing,  absorbing  the   present,  trans- 
cending the  past ; 

I  see  thy  light  lighting  and  thy  shadow  shadowing,  as  if 
the  entire  globe ;        * 

But  I  do  not  undertake  to  define  thee — hardly  to  compre- 
hend thee ; 

I  but  thee  name — thee  prophesy — as  now ! 

WALT  WHITMAN. 

By  permission  of  the  David  Mackay  Company. 


THE    GROWTH    OF    EMPIRE        241 


THE   BLUE   AND    THE    GRAY 

[Despite  bitter  feelings  during  political  Reconstruction  in  the 
South,  animosities  of  the  war — especially  among  ex-soldiers — soon 
faded.  On  Memorial  Day,  May  30,  1867,  appointed  for  the  deco- 
ration of  graves  of  the  fallen,  women  in  Columbus,  Miss.,  laid 
flowers  over  Federal  as  well  as  Confederate  graves:  a  generous 
example  widely  followed.} 

By  the  flow  of  the  inland  river, 

Whence  the  fleets  of  iron  have  fled, 
Where  the   blades   of   the   grave-grass   quiver, 
Asleep  are  the  ranks  of  the  dead : 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day; 
Under  the  one,  the  Blue, 
Under  the  other,  the  Gray. 

These  in  the  robings  of  glory, 

Those  in  the  gloom  of  defeat, 
All  with  the  battle-blood  gory, 

In  the  dusk  of  eternity  meet: 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day; 
Under  the  laurel,  the  Blue, 
Under  the  willow,  the  Gray. 

From  the  silence  of  sorrowful  hours 

The  desolate  mourners  go, 
Lovingly  laden  with  flowers 

Alike  for  the  friend  and  the  foe: 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew 
Waiting  the  judgment-day; 
Under  the  roses,  the  Blue, 
Under  the  lilies,  the  Gray. 

So  with  an  equal  splendor, 

The  morning  sun-rays  fall, 
With  a  touch  impartially  tender, 

On  the  blossoms  blooming  for  all : 


242        THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 

Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 
Waiting  the  judgment-day; 
Broidered  with  gold,  the  Blue, 
.  Mellowed  with  gold,  the  Gray. 

So,  when  the  summer  calleth, 

On  forest  and  field  of  grain, 
With  an  equal  murmur  falleth 
The  cooling  drip  of  the  rain: 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day; 
Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Blue, 
Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Gray. 

Sadly,  but  not  with  upbraiding, 

The  generous  deed  was  done, 
In  the  storm  of  the  years  that  are  fading 
No  braver  battle  was  won: 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment-day; 
Under  the  blossoms,  the  Blue, 
Under  the  garlands,  the  Gray. 

No  more  shall  the  war-cry  sever, 

Or  the  winding  rivers  be  red; 
They  banish  our  anger  forever 

When  they  laurel  the  graves  of  our  dead! 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 
Waiting  the  judgment  day ; 
Love  and  tears  for  the  Blue, 
Tears  and  love  for  the  Gray. 

FRANCIS  MILES  FINCH. 

From  "The  Blue  and  the  Gray,  and  Other  Verses,"  by  permis- 
sion of  Messrs.  Henry  Holt  and  Company. 


THE   GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE       243 
FOES    YET    BROTHERS 

FROM  "AN  ODE  FOR  DECORATION  DAY5' 

0  gallant  brothers  of  the  generous  South, 
Foes  for  a  day  and  brothers  for  all  time, 

1  charge  you  by  the  memories  of  your  youth, 
By  Yorktown's  field  and  Montezuma's  clime, 
Hold  our  dead  sacred — let  them  quietly  rest 

In  your  unnumbered  vales,  where  God  thought  best. 
Your  vines  and  flowers  learned  long  since  to  forgive, 
And  o'er  their  graves  a  broidered  mantle  weave : 
Be  you  as  kind  as  they  are,  and  the  word 
Shall  reach  the  Northland  with  each  summer  bird, 
And  thoughts  as  sweet  as  summer  shall  awake 
Responsive  to  your  kindness,  and  shall  make 
Our  peace  the  peace  of  brothers  once  again, 
And  banish  utterly  the  days  of  pain. 

And  ye,  O  Northmen!  be  ye  not  outdone 

In  generous  thought  and  deed. 
We  all  do  need  forgiveness,  every  one ; 

And  they  that  give  shall  find  it  in  their  need. 
Spare  of  your  flowers  to  deck  the  stranger's  grave, 

Who  died  for  a  lost  cause — 
A  soul  more  daring,  resolute,  and  brave, 

Ne'er  won  a  world's  applause. 
A  brave  man's  hatred  pauses  at  the  tomb. 
For  him  some  Southern  home  was  robed  in  gloom, 
Some  wife  or  mother  looked  with  longing  eyes 
Through  the  sad  days  and  nights  with  tears  and  sighs, 
Hope  slowly  hardening  into  gaunt  Despair. 
Then  let  your  f oeman's  grave  remembrance  share : 
Pity  a  higher  charm  to  Valor  lends, 
And  in  the  realms  of  Sorrow  all  are  friends. 

HENRY  PETERSON. 

From  "Poems,"  by  courtesy  of  the  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company 
and  of  Mr.  Arthur  Peterson. 


244       THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 


THE  CABLE  HYMN 

[The  first  Atlantic  cable  successfully  laid  by  Cyrus  W.  Field, 
July  29,  1866.] 

O  lonely  bay  of  Trinity, 

O  dreary  shores,  give  ear! 
Lean  down  unto  the  white-lipped  sea 

The  voice  of  God  to  hear ! 

From  world  to  world  His  couriers  fly, 
Thought-winged  and  shod  with  fire; 

The  angel  of  His  stormy  sky 
Rides   down  the   sunken  wire. 

What  saith  the  herald  of  the  Lord? 

"The  world's  long  strife  is  done ; 
Close  wedded  by  that  mystic  cord, 

Its  continents  are  one. 

"And  one  in  heart,  as  one  in  blood, 

Shall  all  her  peoples  be; 
The  hands  of  human  brotherhood 

Are  clasped  beneath  the  sea. 

"Through  Orient  seas,  o'er  Afric's  plain 

And  Asian  mountains  borne, 
The  vigor  of  the  Northern  brain 

Shall  nerve  the  world  outworn. 

"From   clime   to   clime,    from   shore   to   shore, 

Shall  thrill  the  magic  thread ; 
The  new  Prometheus  steals  once  more 

The  fire  that  wakes  the  dead." 

Throb  on,  strong  pulse  of  thunder !  beat 

From  answering  beach  to  beach ; 
Fuse  nations  in  thy  kindly  heat, 

And  melt  the  chains  of  each ! 


THE    GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE        245 

Wild  terror  of  the  sky  above, 

Glide  tamed  and  dumb  below! 
Bear  gently,  Ocean's  carrier-dove, 

Thy  errands  to  and  fro. 

Weave  on,  swift  shuttle  of  the  Lord, 

Beneath  the  deep  so  far, 
The  bridal  robe  of  earth's  accord, 

The  funeral  shroud  of  war ! 

For  lo !  the  fall  of  Ocean's  wall 

Space  mocked  and  time  outrun ; 
And  round  the  world  the  thought  of  all 

Is  as  the  thought  of  one! 

The  poles  unite,  the  zones  agree, 

The  tongues  of  striving  cease ; 
As  on  the  Sea  of  Galilee 

The  Christ  is  whispering,  Peace ! 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


246        THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 


OUR   FIRST   CENTURY 
[1776-1876] 

( It  cannot  be  that  men  who  are  the  seed 

Of  Washington  should  miss  fame's  true  applause; 

Franklin  did  plan  us ;  Marshall  gave  us  laws ; 
And  slow  the  broad  scroll  grew  a  people's  creed — 
Union  and  Liberty !  then  at  our  need, 

Time's  challenge  coming,  Lincoln  gave  it  pause, 

Upheld  the  double  pillars  of  the  cause, 
And  dying  left  them  whole — our  crowning  deed. 

Such  was  the  fathering  race  that  made  all  fast, 
Who  founded  us,  and  spread  from  sea  to  sea 
A  thousand  leagues  the  zone  of  liberty, 

And  built  for  man  this  refuge  from  his  past, 

Unkinged,  unchurched,  unsoldiered ;  shamed  were  we, 

Failing  the  stature  that  such  sires  forecast ! 

GEORGE  EDWARD  WOODBERRY. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


THE    GROWTH    OF    EMPIRE        247 


LIBERTY'S   LATEST  DAUGHTER 

[The  Centennial  Anniversary  of  July  4,  1776,  was  celebrated  by 
a  World's  Exposition  in  Philadelphia,  opened  by  President  Grant 
on  May  10,  1876,  specialised  on  July  4  by  a  great  gathering  in 
Independence  Square  with  notable  exercises,  including  the  recital 
of  Bayard  Taylor's  "Ode"  by  its  author.  It  continued  till  Novem- 
ber 10,  a  brilliant  and  world-wide  center  of  interest.] 

FROM  "THE  NATIONAL  ODE,"  JULY  4,   1876. 

Sun  of  the  stately  Day, 
Let  Asia  into  the  shadow  drift, 
Let  Europe  bask  in  thy  ripened  ray, 
And  over  the  severing  ocean  lift 
A  brow  of  broader  splendor! 
Give  light  to  the  eager  eyes 
Of  the  Land  that  waits  to  behold  thee  rise ; 
The  gladness  of  morning  lend  her, 
With  the  triumph  of  noon  attend  her, 
And  the  peace  of  the  vesper  skies! 

For,  lo !  she  cometh  now 
With  hope  on  the  lip  and  pride  on  the  brow, 
Stronger,  and  dearer,  and  fairer, 
To  smile  on  the  love  we  bear  her, — 
To  live,  as  we  dreamed  her  and  sought  her, 

Liberty's  latest  daughter! 
In  the  clefts  of  the  rocks,  in  the  secret  places, 

We  found  her  traces; 
On  the  hills,  in  the  crash  of  woods  that  fall, 

We  heard  her  call; 
When  the  lines  of  battle  broke, 
We  saw  her  face  in  the  fiery  smoke; 
Through  toil,  and  anguish,  and  desolation, 

We  followed,  and  found  her 
With  the  grace  of  a  Virgin  Nation 
As  a  sacred  zone  around  her! 

Who  shall  rejoice 
With  a  righteous  voice, 
Far-heard  through  the  ages,  if  not  she? 
For  the  menace  is  dumb  that  defied  her, 
The  doubt  is  dead  that  denied  her, 


248        THE    GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE 

And  she  stands  acknowledged,  and  strong,  and  free! 
To  seize  the  highest  use  of  things ; 
For  Fate,  to  mould  thee  to  her  plan, 

Denied  thee  food  of  kings, 
Withheld  the  udder  and  the  orchard-fruits, 

Fed  thee  with  savage  roots, 

And   forced  thy   harsher   milk   from  barren   breasts   of 
man! 

O  sacred  Woman-Form, 
Of  the  first  People's  need  and  passion  wrought, — 

No  thin,  pale  ghost  of  Thought, 
But  fair  as  Morning  and  as  heart's-blood  warm, — 
Wearing  thy  priestly  tiar  on  Judah's  hills ; 
Clear-eyed  beneath  Athene's  helm  of  gold; 

Or  from  Rome's  central  seat 
Hearing  the  pulses  of  the  Continents  beat 

In  thunder  where  her  legions  rolled; 
Compact  of  high  heroic  hearts  and  wills, 

Whose  being  circles  all 
The  selfless  aims  of  men,  and  all  fulfils ; 
Thyself  not  free,  so  long  as  one  is  thrall ; 
Goddess,  that  as  a  Nation  lives, 

And  as  a  Nation  dies, 
That  for  her  children  as  a  man  defies, 
And  to  her  children  as  a  mother  gives, — 

Take  our  fresh  fealty  now ! 
No  more  a  Chieftainess,  with  wampum-zone 

And  feather-cinctured  brow, — 
No  more  a  new  Britannia,  grown 
To  spread  an  equal  banner  to  the  breeze, 
And  lift  thy  trident  o'er  the  double  seas ; 

But  with  unborrowed  crest, 
In  thine  own  native  beauty  dressed, — 
The  front  of  pure  command,  the  unflinching  eye,  thine 
own! 

BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


THE    GROWTH    OF    EMPIRE        249 


DOWN    THE   LITTLE    BIG   HORN 

[Trouble  with  Western  Indians  under  the  famous  war  Chief  Sit- 
ting Bull  caused  the  sending  of  troops.  A  detachment  of  the 
Seventh  U.  S.  Cavalry,  under  Lieut. -Colonel  George  A.  Custer,  of 
Civil  War  renown,  coming  unexpectedly  upon  a  large  force  of 
Indians  (June  25,  1876),  instead  of  retiring  for  union  with  other 
troops,  accepted  battle,  and  were  utterly  destroyed.  The  sole  sur- 
vivor was  the  horse,  Comanche,  thereafter  made  a  life-guest  of  the 
regiment.] 

Down  the  Little  Big  Horn, 

(O  troop  forlorn!) 

Right  into  the  camp  of  the  Sioux, 

(What  was  the  muster?) 

Two  hundred  and  sixty-two 

Went  into  the  fight  with  Custer, 

Went  out  of  the  fight  with  Custer, 

Went  out  at  a  breath, 

Staunch  to  the  death ! 

Just  from  the  canyon  emerging, 

Saw  they  the  braves  of  Sitting  Bull  surging, 

Two  thousand  and  more, 

Painted  and  feathered,  thirsting  for  gore, 

Did  they  shrink  and  turn  back, 

(Hear  how  the  rifles  crack!) 

Did  they  pause  for  a  life, 

For  a  sweetheart  or  wife  ? 

And  one  in  that  savage  throng, 

(His  revenge  had  waited  long,) 

Pomped  with  porcupine  quills, 

His  deerskins  beaded  and  fringed, 

An  eagle's  plume  in  his  long  black  hair, 

His  tall  lance  fluttering  in  the  air, 

Glanced  at  the  circling  hills — 

His  cheeks  flushed  with  a  keen  surmise, 

A  demon's  hate  in  his  eyes 

Remembering  the  hour  when  he  cringed, 


250       THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 

A  prisoner  thonged, 

Chief  Rain-in-the-Face 

(/There  was  a  sachem  wronged!) 

Saw  his  enemy's  heart  laid  bare, 

Feasted  in  thought  like  a  beast  in  his  lair. 

Cavalry,  cavalry, 

(Tramp  of  the  hoof,  champ  of  the  bit,) 

Horses  prancing,  cavorting, 

Shying  and  snorting, 

Accouterments  rattling, 

(Children  at  home  are  prattling,) 

Gallantly,  gallantly, 

"Company  dismount!" 

From  the  saddle  they  swing, 

With  their  steeds  form  a  ring, 

(Hear  how  the  bullets  sing!) 

Who  can  their  courage  recount? 

Do  you  blanch  at  their  fate? 

(Who  would  hesitate?) 

Two  hundred  and  sixty-two 

Immortals  in  blue, 

Standing  shoulder  to  shoulder, 

Like  some  granite  boulder 

You  must  blast  to  displace — 

(Were  they  of  a  valiant  race?) 

Two  hundred  and  sixty-two, 

And  never  a  man  to  say, 

"I  rode  with  Custer  that  day." 

Give  the  savage  his  triumph  and  bluster, 

Give  the  hero  to  perish  with  Custer, 

To  his  God  and  his  comrades  true. 

Closing  and  closing, 
Nearer  the  redskins  creep; 
With  cunning  disposing, 
With  yell  and  with  whoop, 
(There  are  women  shall  weep!) 
They  gather  and  swoop, 


THE   GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE       251 

They  come  like  a  flood, 

Maddened  with  blood, 

They  shriek,  plying  the  knife, 

(Was  there  one  begged  for  his  life?) 

Where  but  a  moment  ago 

Stood  serried  and  sternly  the  foe, 

Now  fallen,  mangled  below. 

Down  the  Little  Big  Horn, 

(Tramp  of  hoof,  champ  of  the  bit,) 

A  single  steed  in  the  morn, 

Comanche,  seven  times  hit, 

Comes  to  the  river  to  drink ; 

Lists  for  the  saber's  clink, 

Lists  for  the  voice  of  his  master, 

(O  glorious  disaster!) 

Comes,  sniffing  the  air, 

Gazing,  lifts  his  head, 

But  his  master  lies  dead, 

(Who  but  the  dead  were  there?) 

But  stay,  what  was  the  muster? 

Two  hundred  and  sixty-two 

(Two  thousand  and  more  the  Sioux!) 

Went  into  the  fight  with  Custer, 

Went  out  of  the  fight  with  Custer; 

For  never  a  man  can  say, 

"I  rode  with  Custer  that  day—" 

Went  out  like  a  taper, 

Blown  by  a  sudden  vapor, 

Went  out  at  a  breath, 

True  to  the  death! 

FRANCIS  BROOKS. 

By  permission  of  the  R.  R.  Donnelly  &  Sons  Company. 


252        THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 


THE  BARTHOLDI  STATUE 

["Liberty  Enlightening  the  World''  a  colossal  bronze  statue 
holding  aloft  a  torch  of  electric  light,  by  Frederic  Auguste 
Bartholdi,  was  presented  by  the  French  people  to  America;  reared 
upon  a  great  pedestal  built  by  popular  subscription  on  Bedloe's 
Island,  New  York  Harbor,  and  unveiled  May  24,  1883.] 

The  land,  that,  from  the  rule  of  kings, 

In  freeing  us,  itself  made  free, 
Our  Old  World  Sister,  to  us  brings 

Her  sculptured  Dream  of  Liberty : 

Unlike  the  shapes  on  Egypt's  sands 

Uplifted  by  the  toil-worn  slave, 
On  Freedom's  soil  with  freeman's  hand 

We  rear  the  symbol  free  hands  gave. 

O  France,  the  beautiful !  to  thee 
Once  more  a  debt  of  love  we  owe : 

In  peace  beneath  thy  Colors  Three, 
We  hail  a  later  Rochambeau ! 

Rise,  stately  Symbol !  holding  forth 

Thy  light  and  hope  to  all  who  sit 
In  chains  and  darkness !  Belt  the  earth 

With  watch-fires  from  thy  torch  up-lit ! 

Reveal  the  primal  mandate  still 

Which  Chaos  heard  and  ceased  to  be, 

Trace  on  mid-air  th'  Eternal  Will 
In  signs  of  fire :  "Let  man  be  free !" 

Shine  far,  shine  free,  a  guiding  light 
To  Reason's  ways  and  Virtue's  aim, 

A  lightning-flash  the  wretch  to  smite 
Who  shields  his  license  with  thy  name ! 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
MiffJin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


THE   GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE       253 


GRANT 

[DIED,  AUGUST  8,  1885] 

A.S  one  by  one  withdraw  the  lofty  actors 

From  that  great  play  on  history's  stage  eternal, 

That  lurid,  partial  act  of  war  and  peace — of  old  and  new 
contending, 

Fought   out  through   wrath,    fears,   dark   dismays,    and 
many  a  long  suspense ; 

All  past — and  since,  in  countless  graves  receding,  mel- 
lowing, 

Victor    and    vanquished — Lincoln    and    Lee — now    thou 
with  them, 

Man  of  the  mighty  day — and  equal  to  the  day ! 

Thou  from  the  prairies? — and  tangled  and  many -veined 
and  hard  has  been  thy  part, 

To  admiration  has  it  been  enacted! 

WALT  WHITMAN. 

By  permission  of  the  David  Mackay  Company. 


254       THE    GROWTH   OF  EMPIRE 


CONEMAUGH 

[Peace  has  her  heroisms,  as  ivell  as  war.  A  splendid  example  of 
it  zvas  that  of  Mrs.  Ogle,  a  telegraph  operator  at  Johnstown,  Penn., 
who — when  on  May  31,  1889,  the  great  dam  above  broke,  flooding 
that  town,  Conemaugh  and  other  villages,  destroying  2,000  lives 
and  millions  of  property — stayed  at  her  post  to  send  warnings, 
until  the  torrent  overwhelmed  her.} 

"Fly  to  the  mountain !  Fly" 

Terribly  rang  the  cry. 

The  electric  soul  of  the  wire 

Quivered  like  sentient  fire, 

The  soul  of  the  woman  who  stood 

Face  to  face  with  the  flood 

Answered  to  the  shock 

Like  the  eternal  rock. 

For  she  stayed 
With  her  hand  on  the  wire, 

Unafraid, 

Flashing  the  wild  word  down 
Into  the  lower  town. 
Is  there  a  lower  yet  and  another  ? 
Into  the  valley  she  and  none  other 
Can  hurl  the  warning  cry: 
"Fly  to  the  mountain  !  Fly ! 
The  water  from  Conemaugh 
Has  opened  its  awful  jaw. 
The  dam  is  wide 
On  the  mountain-side !" 
"Fly  for  your  life,  oh,  fly !" 
They  said. 

She  lifted  her  noble  head : 
"I  can  stay  at  my  post,  and  die." 

Face  to  face  with  duty  and  death, 
Dear  is   the   drawing  of   human  breath. 
"Steady,  my  hand !  Hold  fast 
To  the  trust  upon  thee  cast. 


THE   GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE       25$ 

Steady,  my  wire!  Go,  say 
That  death  is  on  the  way ! 
Steady,  strong  wire !  Go,  save ! 
Grand  is  the  power  you  have !" 

Grander  the  soul  that  can  stand 

Behind  the  trembling  hand; 

Grander  the  woman  who  dares  ; 

Glory  her  high  name  wears. 

"This  message  is  my  last!" 

Shot  over  the  wire,  and  passed 

To  the  listening  ear  of  the  land. 

The  mountain  and  the  strand 

Reverberate  the  cry : 

"Fly  for  your  lives,  oh,  fly! 

I  stay  at  my  post,  and  die." 

The  torrent  took  her.     God  knows  all. 

Fiercely  the  savage  currents  fall 

To  muttering  calm.     Men  count  their  dead. 

The  June  sky  smileth  overhead. 

God's  will  we  neither  read  nor  guess. 

Poorer  by  one  more  hero  less, 

We  bow  the  head,  and  clasp  the  hand: 

"Teach  us,  altho'  we  die,  to  stand." 

ELIZABETH  STUART  PHELPS  WARD. 

Bv  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


256       THE    GROWTH   OF  EMPIRE 


IN   THESE   DAYS 

[From  "The  Columbian  Ode"  read  at  the  dedication  of  the 
World's  Columbian  Exposition,  in  Chicago,  October  21,  1892,  cele- 
brating the  Four  Hundredth  Anniversary  of  the  Discovery  of 
America.] 

Columbia,  my  country,  dost  thou  hear? 

Ah !  dost  thou  hear  the  songs  unheard  of  Time  ? 
Hark !  for  their  passion  trembles  at  thine  ear. 

Hush !  for  thy  soul  must  heed  their  call  sublime. 
Across  wide  seas,  unswept  by  earthly  sails, 

Those  strange  sounds  draw  thee  on,  for  thou  shalt  be 
Leader  of  nations  through  the  autumnal  gales 

That  wait  to  mock  the  strong  and  wreck  the  free. 
Dearer,  more  radiant  than  of  yore, 
Against  the  dark  I  see  thee  rise; 
Thy  young  smile  spurns  the  guarded  shore 

And  braves  the  shadowed  ominous  skies. 
And  still  that  conquering  smile  who  see 
Pledge  love,  life,  service  all  to  thee. 
The  years  have  brought  thee  robes  most  fair — 

The  rich  processional  years, 
And  filleted  thy  shining  hair, 
And  zoned  thy  waist  with  jewels  rare, 

And  whispered  in  thine  ears 
Strange  secrets  of  God's  wondrous  ways, 
Long  hid  from  human  awe  and  praise. 

For,  look !  the  living  God  now  bares  His  arm. 
No  more  He  makes  His  house  of  clouds  and  gloom. 
Lightly  the  shuttles  move  within  His  loom; 
Unveiled  His  thunder  leaps  to  meet  the  storm. 
From  God's  right  hand  man  takes  the  powers  that  sway 

A  universe  of  stars ; 

He  bows  them  down,  he  bids  them  go  or  stay, 
He  tames  them  for  his  wars. 


THE   GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE       257 

He  scans  the  burning  paces  of  the  sun, 

And  names  the  invisible  orbs  whose  courses  run 

Through  the  still  deeps  of  space. 
He  sees  in  dew  upon  a  rose  impearled 
The  swarming  legions  of  a  monad  world 
Begin  life's  upward  race. 
Voices  of  hope  he  hears 
Long  dumb  to  his  despair, 
And  dreams  of  golden  years 
Fit  for  a  world  so  fair. 
For  now  Democracy  dares  wake  and  rise 

From  the  sweet  sloth  of  youth. 
By  storms  made  strong,  by  many  dreams  made  wise, 

He  clasps  the  hand  of  Truth. 
Through  the  armed  nations  lies  his  path  of  peace, 

The  open  book  of  knowledge  in  his  hand. 
Food  to  the  starving,  to  the  oppressed  release, 
And  love  to  all  he  bears  from  land  to  land. 
Before  his  march  the  barriers  fall, 
The  law  grows  gentle  at  his  call. 
His  glowing  breath  blows  far  away 
The  fogs  that  veil  the  coming  day — 

That  wondrous  day 

When  earth  shall  sing  as  through  the  blue  she  rolls, 
Laden  with  joy  for  all  her  thronging  souls. 
Then  shall  want's  call  to  sin  resound  no  more 

Across  her  teeming  fields.    And  pain  shall  sleep, 
Soothed  by  brave  science  with  her  magic  lore. 

And  war  no  more  shall  bid  the  nations  weep. 
Then  the  worn  chains  shall  slip  from  man's  desire, 
And  ever  higher  and  higher 
His  swift  foot  shall  aspire, 
Still  deeper  and  more  deep 
His  soul  its  watch  shall  keep, 
Till  love  shall  make  the  world  a  holy  place, 
Where  knowledge  dares  unveil  God's  very  face. 

Not  yet  the  angels  hear  life's  last  sweet  song. 
Music  unutterably  pure  and  strong 


258        THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 

From  earth  shall  rise  to  haunt  the  peopled  skies, 

When  the  long  march  of  time, 
Patient  in  birth  and  death,  in  growth  and  blight, 
Shall  lead  man  up  through  happy  realms  of  light 

Unto  his  goal  sublime. 

HARRIET  MONROE, 
By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


THE    GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE        259 
BATTLE   SONG 

[For  about  400  years  Cuba  was  tyrannised  over  by  Spain,  and 
for  fifty  years  American  sympathy  had  been  keen  for  her  failing 
rebellions.  In  1895  new  cruelties  brought  fresh  revolution;  for 
three  years  America  tvatched  and  grew  hot,  in  January,  1898,  send- 
ing the  battleship  "Maine"  to  Havana  for  observation.  On  Feb- 
ruary 15,  the  peaceful  "Maine"  was  blown  up  in  the  harbor  by 
Spanish  uniformed  men.  President  McKinley  asked,  and  in  April 
received,  from  Congress  authority  for  armed  intervention  to  expel 
Spain  and  to  establish  an  independent  government  in  Cuba.  "Re- 
member the  'Maine'!"  was  the  cry  of  the  whole  nation.] 

When  the  vengeance  wakes,  when  the  battle  breaks. 

And  the  ships  sweep  out  to  sea ; 
When  the  foe  is  neared,  when  the  decks  are  cleared. 

And  the  colors  floating  free ; 
When  the  squadrons  meet,  when  it's  fleet  to  fleet 

And  front  to  front  with  Spain, 
From  ship  to  ship,  from  lip  to  lip, 

Pass  on  the  quick  refrain, 
"Remember,  remember  the  Maine!" 

When  the  flag  shall  sign,  "Advance  in  line ; 

Train  ships  on  an  even  keel ;" 
When  the  guns  shall  flash  and  the  shot  shall  crash 

And  bound  on  the  ringing  steel ; 
When  the  rattling  blasts  from  the  armored  masts 

Are  hurling  their  deadliest  rain, 
Let  their  voices  loud,  through  the  blinding  cloud, 

Cry  ever  the  fierce  refrain, 
"Remember,  remember  the  Maine!'' 

God's  sky  and  sea  in  that  storm  shall  be 

Fate's  chaos  of  smoke  and  flame, 
But  across  that  hell  every  shot  shall  tell, 

Not  a  gun  can  miss  its  aim ; 
Not  a  blow  shall  fail  on  the  crumbling  mail, 

And  the  waves  that  engulf  the  slain 
Shall  sweep  the  decks  of  the  blackened  wrecks, 

With  the  thundering,  dread  refrain, 
"Remember,  remember  the  Maine!" 

ROBERT  BURNS  WILSON. 
By  permission  of  the  Century  Company. 


260       THE   GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 


DEWEY  AT  MANILA 

[The  United  States  Navy  did  the  first  and  last  of  the  Spanish 
War  fighting.  Dewey  at  Manila,  May  1,  1898,  ready  at  the  word, 
struck  at  the  Spanish  Philippines  in  the  Pacific;  the  battle-ship 
"Oregon"  from  San  Francisco,  raced  14,000  miles  around  South 
America  to  get  into  the  turmoil;  Sampson's  fleet  blockaded  the 
Cuban  ports,  and  finally,  with  Schley  a  fighting  second,  crushed 
the  Spanish  fleet  of  Cervera  as  it  tried  to  escape  from  Santiago 
Harbor.] 

'T  was  the  very  verge  of  May 

When  the  bold  Olympia  led 
Into  Boca  Grande  gray 

Dewey's  squadron,  dark  and  dread, — 
Creeping  past  Corregidor, 
Guardian  of  Manila's  shore. 

Do  they  sleep  who  wait  the  fray? 

Is  the  moon  so  dazzling  bright 
That  our  cruisers'  battle-gray 

Melts  into  the  misty  light?  .    .    . 
Ah !  the  rockets  flash  and  soar ! 
Wakes  at  last  Corregidor! 

All  too  late  their  screaming  shell 

Tears  the  silence  with  its  track; 
This  is  but  the  gate  of  hell, 

We've  no  leisure  to  turn  back. 
Answer,  Boston — then  once  more 
Slumber  on,  Corregidor ! 

And  as,  like  a  slowing  tide, 

Onward  still  the  vessels  creep, 
Dewey,  watching,  falcon-eyed, 

Orders — "Let  the  gunners  sleep; 
For  we  meet  a  foe  at  four 
Fiercer  than  Corregidor." 


THE   GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE        261 

Well  they  slept,  for  well  they  knew 

What  the  morrow  taught  us  all, — 
He  was  wise  (as  well  as  true) 

Thus  upon  the  foe  to  fall. 
Long  shall  Spain  the  day  deplore 
Dewey  ran  Corregidor. 

May  is  dancing  into  light 

As  the  Spanish  Admiral 
From  a  dream  of  phantom  fight 

Wakens  at  his  sentry's  call. 
Shall  he  leave  Cavite's  lee, 
Hunt  the  Yankee  fleet  at  sea? 

O  Montojo,  to  thy  deck, 

That  to-day  shall  float  its  last! 
Quick!    To  quarters!    Yonder  speck 

Grows  a  hull  of  portent  vast. 
Hither,  toward  Cavite's  lee 
Comes  the  Yankee  hunting  thee ! 

Not  for  fear  of  hidden  mine 

Halts  our  doughty  Commodore. 
He,  of  old  heroic  line, 

Follows  Farragut  once  more, 
Hazards  all  on  victory, 
Here  within  Cavite's  lee. 

If  he  loses,  all  is  gone ; 

He  will  win  because  he  must. 
And  the  shafts  of  yonder  dawn 

Are  not  quicker  than  his  thrust. 
Soon,  Montojo,  he  shall  be 
With  thee  in  Cavite's  lee. 

Now,  Manila,  to  the  fray! 

Show  the  hated  Yankee  host 
This  is  not  a  holiday — 

Spanish  blood  is  more  than  boasto 
Fleet  and  mine  and  battery, 
Crush  him  in  Cavite's  lee! 


262        THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 

Lo,  Hell's  geysers  at  our  fore 
Pierce  the  plotted  path — in  vain, 

Nerving  every  man  the  more 
With  the  memory  of  the  Maine! 

Now  at  last  our  guns  are  free 

Here  within  Cavite's  lee. 

"Gridley,"  says  the  Commodore, 
"You  may  fire  when  ready/'    Then 

Long  and  loud,  like  lions'  roar 
When  a  rival  dares  the  den, 

Breaks  the  awful  cannonry 

Full  across  Cavite's  lee. 

Who  shall  tell  the  daring  tale 
Of  our  Thunderbolt's  attack, 

Finding,  when  the  chart  should  fail, 
By  the  lead  his  dubious  track, 

Five  ships  following  faithfully 

Five  times  o'er  Cavite's  lee; 

Of  our  gunners'  deadly  aim ; 

Of  the  gallant  foe  and  brave 
Who,  unconquered,  faced  with  flame, 

Seek  the  mercy  of  the  wave — 
Choosing  honor  in  the  sea 
Underneath  Cavite's  lee! 

Let  the  meed  the  victors  gain 
Be  the  measure  of  their  task. 

Less  of  flinching,  stouter  strain, 
Fiercer  combat- — who  could  ask? 

And  "surrender" — 'twas  a  word 

That  Cavite  ne'er  had  heard. 

Noon — the  woeful  work  is  done. 

Not  a  Spanish  ship  remains ; 
But,  of  their  eleven,  none 

Ever  was  so  truly  Spain's ! 
Which  is  prouder,  they  or  we, 
Thinking  of  Cavite's  lee? 


THE   GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE       263 

ENVOI 

But  remember,  when  we've  ceased 
Giving  praise  and  reckoning  odds, 

Man  shares  courage  with  the  beast, 
Wisdom  cometh  from  the  gods. 

Who  would  win,  on  land  or  wave, 

Must  be  wise  as  well  as  brave. 

ROBERT  UNDERWOOD  JOHNSON. 

From  the  Author's  "Collected  Poems"  (1920),  by  permission  of 
the  Yale  University  Press,  and  courtesy  of  the  Author. 


264       THE    GROWTH   OF  EMPIRE 


THE  FLAG  GOES  BY 

[The  regular  army  had  but  25,000  men.  The  President  called 
for  200.000  volunteers  for  Cuba,  who  joyously  responded  until 
there  were  many  more  troops  than  could  be  used.  A  zeal  for  the 
flag  had  been  growing,  but  the  war  aroused  new  enthusiasm  for 
the  "Stars  and  Stripes,"  and  June  14,  date  of  its  adoption  as  the 
national  standard  in  1777  by  Congress,  appointed  as  "Flag  Day  " 
was  and  has  continued  to  be  celebrated  widely  with  appropriate 
ceremonies.] 

Hats  off! 

Along  the  street  there  comes 

A  blare  of  bugles,  a  ruffle  of  drums, 

A  flash  of  color  beneath  the  sky : 

Hats  off! 

The  flag  is  passing  by ! 

Blue  and  crimson  and  white  it  shines, 

Over  the  steel-tipped,  ordered  lines. 

Hats  off! 

The  colors  before  us  fly ; 

But  more  than  the  flag  is  passing  by : 

Sea-fights  and  land-fights,  grim  and  great, 
Fought  to  make  and  to  save  the  State; 
Weary  marches  and  sinking  ships ; 
Cheers  of  victory  on  dying  lips ; 

Days  of  plenty  and  years  of  peace ; 
March  of  a  strong  land's  swift  increase; 
Equal  justice,  right  and  law, 
Stately  honor  and  reverend  awe ; 

Sign  of  a  nation  great  and  strong 

To  ward  her  people  from  foreign  wrong: 

Pride  and  glory  and  honor, — all 

Live  in  the  colors  to  stand  or  fall. 


THE   GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE       265 

Hats  off! 

Along  the  street  there  comes 

A  blare  of  bugles,  a  ruffle  of  drums ; 

And  loyal  hearts  are  beating  high : 

Hats  off! 

The  flag  is  passing  by ! 

HENRY  HOLCOMB  BENNETT. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


266       THE   GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 

COLUMBIA'S  BANNER 

[A  feature  of  the  National  Public  School  Celebration  of  Colum- 
bus Day,  October  12,  1892.] 

Uplift  the  Starry  Banner!  The  best  age  is  begun! 

We  are  the  heirs  of  the  mariners  whose  voyage  that 

morn1  was  done. 
Measureless   lands   Columbus   gave   and   rivers   through 

zones  that  roll, 
But  his  rarest,  noblest  bounty  was  a  New  World  for  the 

soul! 
For  he  sailed  from  the  past  with  its  stifling  walls,  to  the 

future's  open  sky, 
And  the  ghosts  of  gloom  and  fear  were  laid  as  the  breath 

of  heaven  went  by ; 
And  the  pedant's  pride  and  the  lordling's   scorn  were 

lost  in  that  vital  air, 
As  fogs  are  lost  when  sun  and  wind  sweep  ocean  blue 

and  bare ; 
And  freedom  and  larger  knowledge  dawned  clear,  the 

sky  to  span, 
The  birthright,  not  of  priest  or  king,  but  of  every  child 

of  man ! 

Uplift  the  New  World's  banner  to  greet  the  exultant 

sun ! 
Let  its  rosy  gleams  still  follow  his  beams  as  swift  to  the 

west  they  run, 
Till  the  wide  air  rings  with  shout  and  hymn  to  welcome 

it  shining  high, 
And  our  eagle  from  lone  Katahdin  to  Shasta's  snow  can 

fly 
In  the  light  of  its  stars  as  fold  on  fold  is  flung  to  the 

Autumn  sky ! 
Uplift  it,  youths  and  maidens,  with  songs  and  loving 

cheers ; 
Through    triumphs,    raptures,    it   has    waved,    through 

agonies  and  tears. 
iSee  "Land  Ho!"  page  3. 


THE    GROWTH    OF    EMPIRE        267 

Columbia  looks  from  sea  to  sea  and  thrills  with  joy  to 

know 
Her  myriad  sons,  as  one,  would  leap  to  shield  it  from  a 

foe! 

It  floats  for  broadest  learning;  for  the  soul's  supreme 

release ; 

For  law  disdaining  license ;  for  righteousness  and  peace ; 
For  valor  born  of  justice;  and  its  amplest  scope  and  plan 
Makes  a  queen  of  every  woman,  a  king  of  every  man! 
While  forever,  like  Columbus,  o'er  truth's  unfathomed 

main 
It  pilots  to  the  hidden  isles,  a  grander  realm  to  gain. 

No  cloud  on  the  field  of  azure, — no  stain  on  the  rosy 

bars — 
God  bless  you,  youths  and  maidens,  as  you  guard  the 

Stripes  and  Stars ! 

EDNA  DEAN  PROCTOR. 

By  courtesy  of  the  Author;  also  by  special  permission  of,  and 
special  arrangement  with,  Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  the  author- 
ized Publishers. 


268        THE    GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE 


DEEDS  OF  VALOR  AT  SANTIAGO 

[Poor  management  by  the  War  Department  delayed  the  troops 
for  Cuba,  but  after  their  arrival  they  did  gallant  work, — at  the 
siege  of  Santiago  under  General  Shafter,  and  the  collateral  fighting 
under  Chaff ee,  Lawton,  Wheeler,  Roosevelt,  at  the  forts  and  at  San 
Juan  Hill] 

Who  cries  that  the  days  of   daring  are  those  that  are 

faded  far, 
That  never  a  light  burns  planet-bright  to  be  hailed  as 

the  hero's  star? 
Let  the  deeds  of  the  dead  be  laureled,  the  brave  of  the 

elder  years, 
But  a  song,  we  say,  for  the  men  of  to-day,  who  have 

proved  themselves  their  peers ! 

High  in  the  vault  of  the  tropic  sky  is  the  garish  eye  of 
the  sun, 

And  down  with  its  crown  of  guns  afrown  looks  the  hill- 
top to  be  won ; 

There  is  the  trench  where  the  Spaniard  lurks,  his  hold 
and  his  hiding-place, 

And  he  who  would  cross  the  space  between  must  meet 
death  face  to  face. 

The  black  mouths  belch  and  thunder,  and  the  shrapnel 

shrieks  and  flies ; 
Where  are  the  fain  and  the  fearless,  the  lads  with  the 

dauntless  eyes? 
Will  the  moment  find  them  wanting !   Nay,  but  with  valor 

stirred ! 
Like  the  leashed  hound  on  the  coursing-ground  they  wait 

but  the  warning  word. 

"Charge!"  and  the  line  moves  forward,  moves  with  a 

shout  and  a  swing, 
While  sharper  far  than  the  cactus-thorn  is  the  spiteful 

bullet's  sting. 


THE    GROWTH    OF    EMPIRE        269 

Now  they  are  out  in  the  open,  and  now  they  are  breasting 

the  slope, 
While  into  the  eyes  of  death  they  gaze  as  into  the  eyes 

of  hope. 

Never  they  wait  nor  waver,  but  on  they  clamber  and  on, 
With  "Up  with  the  flag  of  the  Stripes  and  Stars,  and 

down  with  the  flag  of  the  Don !" 
What  should  they  bear  through  the  shot-rent  air  but  rout 

to  the  ranks  of  Spain, 
For  the  blood  that  throbs  in  their  hearts  is  the  blood  of 

the  boys  of  Anthony  Wayne! 

See,  they  have  taken  the  trenches!   Where  are  the  foe- 
men  ?   Gone ! 

And  now  "Old  Glory"  waves   in  the  breeze   from  the 
heights  of  San  Juan! 

And  so,  while  the  dead  are  laureled,  the  brave  of  the 
elder  years, 

A  song,  we  say,  for  the  men  of  to-day  who  have  proved 
themselves  their  peers! 

CLINTON  SCOLLARD. 
By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


270       THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 

CUB  SAWBONES 
1898 

When  we  marched  away  with  the  starry  flag, 
Cub  Sawbones  carried  his  surgeon's  bag; 
But  for  me — I  wanted  no  "rear"  in  mine — 
I  shouldered  a  gun  in  the  fighting  line. 

So  when  we  had  charged  up  the  deadly  glade 
Where  the  dons  were  lying  in  ambuscade, 
I  was  there  to  take  what  the  others  got — 
And  the  Spaniards  gave  it,  plenty  and  hot. 

There  fell  of  our  crowd  in  the  Mauser  hail 
A  third — yet  never  a  man  did  quail, 
But — well,  we  went  back — then  came  again 
And  settled  right  down  to  our  work  like  men. 

In  open  order  and  firing  at  will, 
We  crawled  through  a  very  rough  skirmish  drill — 
From  the  trees  to  the  rocks,  from  the  rocks  to  the  trees, 
Just  as  close  to  the  ground  as  we  could  freeze. 

When  I  noted  a  tangled  thicket  sway 
In  front  about  twenty-five  yards  away, 
I  halted,  made  ready  to  loosen  a  storm — 
Till  I  caught  a  whiff  of  iodoform. 

Cub  Sawbones,  alone  with  the  wounded  folk, 
Was  cobbling  the  limbs  that  the  bullets  broke ; 
He  bent  to  his  task  with  the  tenderest  care, 
Though  the  war-bolts  were  hissing  everywhere. 

I  hailed  him  with  our  old  college  yell, — 
He  grinned,  as  he  watched  a  bursting  shell. 
"You  have  a  great  nerve  to  be  here,"  he  said, 
"When  you're  not  a  doctor — or  wounded — or  dead!" 
SYDNEY  REID  (ROBERT  CHARLES  FORNERI). 

From  the  New  York  Sun,  July  9,  1898,  by  permission  of  the 
Sun-Herald  Corporation. 


THE    GROWTH    OF    EMPIRE        271 


WHEELER  AT  SANTIAGO 

[One  of  the  most  gallant  figures  of  the  close  fighting  was  Gen- 
eral Joseph  Wheeler,  a  cavalry  leader  of  the  Confederate  Army  in 
'61 -'65,  now  sick  and  feeble,  but  loyal,  trusted,  and  as  valorous  as 
of  old.} 

Into  the  thick  of  the  fight  he  went,  pallid  and  sick  and 

wan, 
Borne  in  an  ambulance  to  the  front,  a  ghostly  wisp  of  a 

man; 
But  the  fighting  soul  of  a  fighting  man,  approved  in  the 

long  ago, 
Went  to  the  front  in  that  ambulance,  and  the  body  of 

Fighting  Joe. 

Out  from  the  front  they  were  coming  back,  smitten  of 

Spanish  shells, — 
Wounded  boys  from  the  Vermont  hills  and  the  Alabama 

dells; 
"Put  them  into  this  ambulance;  I'll  ride  to  the  front,"  he 

said, 
And  he  climbed  to  the  saddle  and  rode  right  on,  that  little 

ex-Confed. 

From  end  to  end  of  the  long  blue  ranks  rose  up  the  ring- 
ing cheers, 

And  many  a  powder-blackened  face  was  furrowed  with 
sudden  tears, 

As  with  flashing  eyes  and  gleaming  sword,  and  hair  and 
beard  of  snow, 

Into  the  hell  of  shot  and  shell  rode  little  old  Fighting  Joe ! 

Sick  with  fever  and  racked  with  pain,  he  could  not  stay 
away, 

For  he  heard  the  song  of  the  yester-year  in  the  deep- 
mouthed  cannon's  bay — 

He  heard  in  the  calling  song  of  the  guns  there  was  work 
for  him  to  do, 

Where  his  country's  best  blood  splashed  and  flowed 
'round  the  Red,  White  and  Blue. 


272       THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 

Fevered  body  and  hero  heart !  this  Union's  heart  to  you 
Beats  out  in  love  and  reverence — and  to  each  dear  boy  in 

blue 
Who  stood  or  fell  'mid  the  shot  and  shell,  and  cheered 

in  the  face  of  the  foe, 
As,  wan  and  white,  to  the  heart  of  the  fight  rode  little 

old  Fighting  Joe ! 

JAMES  LINDSAY  GORDON. 

From  the  New^  York  Sun,  July,  1898,  by  permission  of  the  Sun- 
Herald  Corporation. 


THE   GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE       273 


JOINED    THE    BLUES 

[This  happy  fancy,  of  the  spirits  of  Sheridan  and  Stonewall 
Jackson  looking  down  with  hearty  approval  upon  the  redoubtable 
old  Confederate  General  Wheeler  as  now^  a  fighter  for  the  Union, 
is  infused  with  the  soldierly  comradeship  and  sincerity  -of  those 
heroes  of  the  Civil  War.] 

Says  Stonewall  Jackson  to  "Little  Phil" : 

"Phil,  have  you  heard  the  news? 

Why,  our  'Joe'  Wheeler — 'Fighting  Joe' — has  gone  and 
joined  the  blues. 

"Ay,  no  mistake — I  saw  him  come — I  heard  the  oath  he 

took — 
And  you'll  find  it  duly  entered  up  in  your  great  Record 

Book. 

"Yes,  'Phil,'  it  is  a  change  since  then  (we  give  the  Lord 
due  thanks), 

When  'Joe'  came  swooping  like  a  hawk  upon  your  Sher- 
man's flanks ! 

"Why,  'Phil,'  you  knew  the  trick  yourself — but  'Joe'  had 

all  the  points — 
And  we've  yet  to  hear  his  horses  died  of  stiff  or  rusted 

joints ! 

"But  what  of  that? — the  deed  I  saw  to-day  in  yonder 

town 
Leads  all  we  did  and  all  'Joe'  did  in  troopings  up  and 

down; 

"For,  'Phil/  that  oath  shall  be  the  heal  of  many  a  gaping 

wound, 
And  many  a  Southland  song  shall  yet  to  that  same  oath 

be  tuned ! 


274       THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 

'The  oath  'Joe'  swore  has  done  the  work  of  thrice  a  score 

of  years — 
Ay,  more  than  oath — he  swore  away  mistrust,  and  hate 

and  tears !" 

"Yes,  yes,"   says   'Phil/   "he  was   indeed  a   right  good 

worthy  foe, 
And  well  he  knew,  in  those  fierce  days,  to  give  us  blow 

f.or  blow. 

"When  'Joe'  came  round  to  pay  a  call — the  commissaries 

said — 
Full  many  a  swearing,  grumbling  'Yank'  went  supperless 

to  bed. 

He  seemed  to  have  a  pesky  knack — so  Sherman  used  to 

say — 
Of  calling  when  he  should  by  rights  be  ninety  miles 

away! 

"Come,  'Stonewall/  put  your  hand  in  mine — 'Joe's'  sworn 

old  Samuel's  oath — 
We're  never  North  or  South  again — he  kissed  the  book 

for  both!" 

JOHN  JEROME  ROONEY. 
By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


THE   GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE        275 


EIGHT  VOLUNTEERS 

[A  fine  piece  of  daring  was  the  attempt  of  Lieutenant  Richmond 
Pearson  Hobson,  with  eight  volunteers,  to  sink  the  collier  "Merri- 
mac"  for  blocking  Santiago  Harbor,  where  the  Spanish  fleet  had 
taken  refuge  without  fighting.  Under  fierce  firing  the  collier  was 
sunk,  but  not  across  the  channel,  and  Hobson  and  his  men  were 
captured.] 

Eight  volunteers !  on  an  errand  of  death ! 

Eight  men !   Who  speaks  ? 
Eight  men  to  go  where  the  cannon's  hot  breath 

Burns  black  the  cheeks. 

Eight  men  to  man  the  old  Merrimac's  hulk, 
Eight  men  to  sink  the  old  steamer's  black  bulk, 
Blockade  the  channel  where  Spanish  ships  skulk, — 

Eight  men  !  Who  speaks  ? 
"Eight  volunteers !"  said  the  Admiral's  flags ! 

Eight  men  !    Who  speaks  ? 
Who  will  sail  under  El  Morro's  black  crags? — 

Sure  death  he  seeks. 
Who  is  there  willing  to  offer  his  life  ? 
Willing  to  march  to  this  music  of  strife, — 
Cannon  for  drum  and  torpedo  for  fife? 

Eight  men !    Who  speaks  ? 

Eight  volunteers !  on  an  errand  of  death ! 

Eight  men !    Who  speaks  ? 
Was  there  a  man  who  in  fear  held  his  breath  ? 

With  fear-paled  cheeks? 
From  ev'ry  war-ship  ascended  a  cheer ! 
From  ev'ry  sailor's  lips  burst  the  word  "Here !" 
Four  thousand  heroes  their  lives  volunteer ! 

Eight  men !    Who  speaks  ? 

LANSING  C.  BAILEY. 

From  "Poems  of  American  History,"  edited  by  Burton  E. 
Stevenson. 


276        THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 

THE  RUSH   OF   THE  OREGON 

[From  San  Francisco  around  the  Horn  to  Cuba] 

They  held  her  South  to  Magellan's  mouth, 
Then  East  they  steered  her,  forth 

Through  the  farther  gate  of  the  crafty  strait, 
And  then  they  held  her  North. 

Six  thousand  miles  to  the  Indian  Isles ! 

And  the  Oregon  rushed  home, 
Her  wake  a  swirl  of  jade  and  pearl, 

Her  bow  a  bend  of  foam. 

And  when  at  Rio  the  cable  sang, 

"There  is  war ! — grim  war  with  Spain  !" 

The  swart  crews  grinned  and  stroked  their  guns 
And  thought  on  the  mangled  Maine. 

In  the  glimmered  gloom  of  the  engine-room 
There  was  joy  to  each  grimy  soul, 

And  fainting  men  sprang  up  again 
And  piled  the  blazing  coal. 

Good  need  was  there  to  go  with  care ; 

But  every  sailor  prayed 
Or  gun  for  gun,  or  six  to  one, 

To  meet  them,  unafraid. 

Her  goal  at  last !  With  joyous  blast 

She  hailed  the  welcoming  roar 
Of  hungry  sea- wolves  curved  along 

The  strong-hilled  Cuban  shore. 

Long  night  went  by.   Her  beamed  eye, 

Unwavering,  searched  the  bay 
Where  trapped  and  penned  for  a  certain  end 

The  Spanish  squadron  lay, 


THE   GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE       277 

Out  of  the  harbor  a  curl  of  smoke — 

A  watchful  gun  rang  clear. 
Out  of  the  channel  the  squadron  broke 

Like  a  bevy  of  frightened  deer. 

Then  there  was  shouting  for  "steam,  more  steam !" 

And  fires  glowed  white  and  red ; 
And  guns  were  manned,  and  ranges  planned, 

And  the  great  ships  leaped  ahead. 

Then  there  was  roaring  of  chorusing  guns, 

Shatter  of  shell,  and  spray; 
And  who  but  the  rushing  Oregon 
Was  fiercest  in  chase  and  fray! 

For  her  mighty  wake  was  a  seething  snake ; 

Her  bow  was  a  billow  of  foam; 
Like  the  mailed  fists  of  an  angry  wight 

Her  shot  drove  crashing  home ; 

Pride  of  the  Spanish  navy,  ho! 

Flee  like  a  hounded  beast ! 
For  the  Ship  of  the  Northwest  strikes  a  blow 

For  the  Ship  of  the  Far  Northeast ! 

In  quivering  joy  she  surged  ahead, 

Aflame  with  flashing  bars, 
Till  down  sunk  the  Spaniard's  gold  and  red 

And  up  ran  the  Clustered  Stars. 

"Glory  to  share  ?  Aye,  and  to  spare ; 

But  the  chief  est  is  hers  by  right 
Of  a  rush  of  fourteen  thousand  miles 

For  the  chance  of  a  bitter  fight ! 

ARTHUR  GUITERMAN. 
By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


278       THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 


THE  MEN  BEHIND  THE  GUNS 

[After  the  crushing  of  the  Spanish  fleet  off  Santiago  a  boat's 
crew  of  the  warship  "Brooklyn"  brought  the  compass  of  the 
ivrecked  "Infanta  Maria"  to  their  commander,  Commodore  Schley, 
as  a  tribute;  but  he  feelingly  replied:  "I  am  much  obliged  to  you, 
but  the  credit  of  victory  belongs  to  you  boys — the  men  behind  the 
guns!"] 

A  cheer  and  salute  for  the  Admiral,  and  here's  to  the 
Captain  bold, 

And  never  forget  the  Commodore's  debt  when  the  deeds 
of  might  are  told ! 

They  stand  to  the  deck  through  the  battle's  wreck  when 
the  great  shells  roar  and  screech — 

And  never  they  fear  when  the  foe  is  near  to  practice 
what  they  preach ; 

But  off  with  your  hat  and  three  times  three  for  Colum- 
bia's true-blue  sons, 

The  men  below  who  batter  the  foe — the  men  behind  the 
guns. 

Oh,  light  and  merry  of  heart  are  they  when  they  swing 
into  port  once  more, 

When,  with  more  than  enough  of  the  "green-backed 
stuff,"  they  start  for  their  leave  ashore; 

And  you'd  think,  perhaps,  that  the  blue-bloused  chaps 
who  loll  along  the  street 

Are  a  tender  bit,  with  salt  on  it,  for  some  fierce  "mous- 
tache" to  eat — 

Some  warrior  bold,  with  straps  of  gold,  who  dazzles  and 
fairly  stuns 

The  modest  worth  of  the  sailor  boys — the  lads  who  serve 
the  guns. 

But  say  not  a  word  till  the  shot  is  heard  that  tells  the 

fight  is  on, 
Till  the  long,  deep  roar  grows  more  and  more  from  the 

ships  of  "Yank"  and  "Don," 


THE   GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE        279 

Till  over  the  deep  the  tempests  sweep  of  fire  and  bursting 

shell, 
And  the  very  air  is1  a  mad  despair  in  the  throes  of  a 

living  hell ; 
Then  down,  deep  down,  in  the  mighty  ship,  unseen  by  the 

midday  suns, 
You'll  find  the  chaps  who  are  giving  the  raps — the  men 

behind  the  guns ! 

Oh,  well  they  know  how  the  cyclones  blow  that  they  loose 

from  their  cloud  of  death, 
And  they  know  is  heard  the  thunder-word  their  fierce 

ten-incher  saith ! 
The  stout  decks  rock  with  the  lightning  shock,  and  shake, 

with  the  great  recoil, 
And  the  sea  grows  red  with  the  blood  of  the  dead  and 

reaches  for  his  spoil — 
But  not  till  the  foe  has  gone  below  or  turns  his  prow  and 

runs, 
Shall  the  voice  of  peace  bring  sweet  release  to  the  men 

behind  the  guns. 

JOHN  JEROME  ROONEY. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


280        THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 


WHEN  THE  GREAT  GRAY  SHIPS  COME  IN 

t  [With  the  destruction  of  her  fleet,  Spain  sought  peace,  which 
was  practically  concluded  on  August  12,  1898 — four  short  months 
from^  the  beginning — two-and-a-half  after  Dewey's  first  blow  at 
Manila.  The  fleet  then  returned  to  New  York.] 

To  eastward  ringing,  to  westward  winging,  o'er  mapless 

miles  of  sea, 
On  winds  and  tides  the  gospel  rides  that  the  furthermost 

isles  are  free, 
And   the    furthermost   isles    make   answer,   harbor,   and 

height,  and  hill, 
Breaker  and  beach  cry  each  to  each,  "  'Tis  the  Mother 

who  calls !  Be  still !" 
Mother!  new  found,  beloved,  and  strong  to  hold  from 

harm, 
Stretching  to   these   across   the   seas  the   shield   of   her 

sovereign  arm. 
Who  summoned  the  guns  of  her  sailor  sons,  who  bade 

her  navies  roam, 
Who  calls  again  to  the  leagues  of  main,  and  who  calls 

them  this  time  Home! 

And   the   great   gray   ships   are   silent,   and   the   weary 

watchers  rest, 
The  black  cloud  dies  in  the  August  skies,  and  deep  in  the 

golden  west 

Invisible  hands  are  limning  a  glory  of  crimson  bars, 
And  far  above  is  the  wonder  of  a  myriad  wakened  stars ! 
Peace !    As  the  tidings  silence  the  strenuous  cannonade, 
Peace  at  last !  is  the  bugle  blast  the  length  of  the  long 

blockade, 

And  eyes  of  vigil  weary  are  lit  with  the  glad  release, 
From  ship  to  ship  and  from  lip  to  lip  it  is  "Peace !  Thank 

God  for  peace." 


THE    GROWTH    OF    EMPIRE        281 

Ah,  in  the  sweet  hereafter  Columbia  still  shall  show 
The  sons  of  these  who  swept  the  seas  how  she  bade  then; 

rise  and  go, — 
How,  when  the  stirring  summons  smote  on  her  children's 

ear, 
South  and  North  at  the  call  stood  forth,  and  the  whole 

land  answered,  "Here!" 
For  the  soul  of  the  soldier's  story  and  the  heart  of  the 

sailor's  song 
Are  all  of  those  who  meet  their  foes  as  right  should  meet 

with  wrong, 
Who  fight  their  guns  till  the  foeman  runs,  and  then,  on 

the  decks  they  trod, 
Brave  faces  raise,  and  give  the  praise  to  the  grace  of  their 

country's  God ! 

Yes,  it  is  good  to  battle,  and  good  to  be  strong  and  free, 
To  carry  the  heart  of  a  people  to  the  uttermost  ends  of 

sea, 
To  see  the  day  steal  up  the  bay  where  the  enemy  lies  in 

wait, 
To  run  your  ship  to  the  harbor's  lip  and  sink  her  across 

the  strait : — 
But  better  the  golden  evening  when  the  ships  round  heads 

for  home, 
And  the  long  gray  miles  slip  swiftly  past  in  a  swirl  of 

seething  foam, 
And  the  people  wait  at  the  haven's  gate  to  greet  the  men 

who  win! 
Thank  God  for  peace !   Thank  God  for  peace,  when  the 

great  gray  ships  come  in ! 

GUY  WET  MORE  CARRYL. 

From  "The  Garden  of  Years,"  by  permission  of  the  Publishers, 
G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  London  and  New  York;  also  of  Messrs. 
Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York. 


282       THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 


BALLAD  OF  PACO  TOWN 

[Final  peace  terms  with  Spain  ceded  the  Philippine  Islands  to 
the  United  States  on  payment  of  $20,000,000.  But  the  Filipinos, 
who  had  hated  Spain,  hated  any  master,  and  fought  America — not 
knowing  that  it  was  as  school-master  she  kept  possession,  to  fit 
them  for  independence.  The  fighting  continued  over  five^  years, 
but  finally  ended.  Many  heroic  deeds  were  done,  and  their  tales 
told,  but  one  must  suffice  us  here.] 

* 

In  Paco  town  and  in  Paco  tower, 
At  the  height  of  the  tropic  noonday  hour, 
Some  Tagal  riflemen,  half  a  score, 
Watched  the  length  of  the  highway  o'er, 
And  when  to  the  front  the  troopers  spurred, 
Whiz-z!  whiz-z!  how  the  Mausers  whirred! 

From  the  opposite  walls,  through  crevice  and  crack, 
Volley  on  volley  went  ringing  back 
Where  a  band  of  regulars  tried  to  drive 
The  stinging  rebels  out  of  their  hive ; 
"Wait  till  our  cannon  come,  and  then/' 
Cried  a  captain,  striding  among  his  men, 
"We'll  settle  that  bothersome  buzz  and  drone 
With  a  merry  little  tune  of  our  own !" 

The  sweltering  breezes  seemed  to  swoon, 

And  down  the  calle  the  thickening  flames 

Licked  the  roofs  in  the  tropic  noon. 

Then  through  the  crackle  and  glare  and  heat, 

And  the  smoke  and  the  answering  acclaims 

Of  the  rifles,  far  up  the  village  street 

Was  heard  the  clatter  of  horses'  feet, 

And  a  band  of  .signal-men  swung  in  sight, 

Hasting  back  from  the  ebbing  fight 

That  had  swept  away  to  the  left  and  right. 


THE    GROWTH    OF    EMPIRE       283 

"Ride !"  yelled  the  regulars,  all  aghast, 

And  over  the  heads  of  the  signal-men, 

As  they  whirled  in  desperate  gallop  past, 

The  bullets  a  vicious  music  made, 

Like  the  whistle  and  whine  of  the  midnight  blast 

On  the  weltering  wastes  of  the  ocean  when 

The  breast  of  the  deep  is  scourged  and  flayed. 

It  chanced  in  the  line  of  the  fiercest  fire 

A  rebel  bullet  had  clipped  the  wire 

That  led,  from  the  front  and  the  fighting,  down 

To  those  that  stayed  in  Manila  town ; 

This  gap  arrested  the  watchful  eye 

Of  one  of  the  signal-men  galloping  by, 

And  straightway,  out  of  the  plunge  and  press, 

He  reined  his  horse  with  a  swift  caress 

And  a  word  in  the  ear  of  the  rushing  steed ; 

Then  back  with  never  a  halt  nor  heed 

Of  the  swarming  bullets  he  rode,  his  goal 

The  parted  wire  and  the  slender  pole 

That  stood  where  the  deadly  tower  looked  down 

On  the  rack  and  ruin  of  Paco  town. 

Out  of  his  saddle  he  sprang  as  gay 
As  a  school-boy  taking  a  holiday ; 
Wire  in  hand  up  the  pole  he  went 
With  never  a  glance  at  the  tower,  intent 
Only  on  what  he  saw  appear 
As  the  line  of  his  duty  plain  and  clear. 
To  the  very  crest  he  climbed,  and  there, 
While  the  bullets  buzzed  in  the  scorching  air, 
Clipped  his  clothing,  and  scored  and  stung 
The  slender  pole-top  to  which  he  clung, 
Made  the  wire  that  was  severed  sound, 
Slipped  in  his  careless  way  to  the  ground, 
Sprang  to  the  back  of  his  horse,  and  then 
Was  off,  this  bravest  of  signal-men. 


284       THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 

Cheers  for  the  hero  I1   While  such  as  he, 
Heedless  alike  of  wounds  and  scars, 
Fight  for  the  dear  old  Stripes  and  Stars, 
Down  through  the  years  to  us  shall  be 
Ever  and  ever  the  victory ! 

CLINTON  SCOLLARD. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 

1  Lieutenant  Charles  E.  Kilbourne,  Jr. 


THE   GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE        285 


THE  ISLANDS  OF  THE  SEA 

God  is  shaping  the  great  future  of  the  Islands  of  the  Sea; 
He  has  sown  the  blood  of  martyrs  and  the  fruit  is  liberty ; 
In  thick  clouds  and  in  darkness  He  has  sent  abroad  His 

word ; 
He  has  given  a  haughty  nation  to  the  cannon  and  the 

sword. 

He  has  seen  a  people  moaning  in  the  thousand  deaths 

they  die; 

He  has  heard  from  child  and  woman  a  terrible  dark  cry; 
He  has  given  the  wasted  talent  of  the  steward  faithless 

found 
To   the   youngest   of   the   nations   with    His   abundance 

crowned. 

He   called  her  to   do  justice  where  none  but   she  had 

power ; 

He  called  her  to  do  mercy  to  her  neighbor  at  the  door; 
He  called  her  to  do  vengeance  for  her  own  sons  foully 

dead; 
Thrice  did  He  call  unto  her  ere  she  inclined  her  head. 

She  has  gathered  the  vast  Midland,  she  has  searched  her 

borders  round; 
There  has  been  a  mighty  hosting  of  her  children  on  the 

ground ; 
Her  search-lights  lie  along  the  sea,  her  guns  are  loud  on 

land; 
To  do  her  will  upon  the  earth  her  armies  round  her  stand. 

The  fleet,  at  her  commandment,  to  either  ocean  turns ; 
Belted  around  the  mighty  world  her  line  of  battle  burns ; 
She  has  loosed  the  hot  volcanoes  of  the  ships  of  flaming 

hell; 
With  fire  and  smoke  and  earthquake  shock  her  heavy 

vengeance  fell. 


286       THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 

O  joyfullest  May  morning  when  before  our  guns  went 

down 
The    Inquisition    priesthood    and    the    dungeon-making 

crown, 
While  through  red  lights  of  battle  our  starry  dawn  burst 

out, 
Swift  as  the  tropic  sunrise  that  doth  with  glory  shout! 

Be  jubilant,  free  Cuba,  our  feet  are  on  thy  soil ; 

Up  mountain  road,  through  jungle  growth,  our  bravest 

for  thee  toil ; 
There  is  no  blood  so  precious  as  their  wounds  pour  forth 

for  thee ; 
Sweet  be  thy  joys,  free  Cuba, — sorrows  have  made  thee 

free. 

Nor  Thou,  O  noble  Nation,  who  wast  so  slow  to  wrath, 

With  grief  too  heavy-laden  follow  in  duty's  path ; 

Not   for  ourselves  our  lives   are;  not   for  Thyself  art 

Thou; 
The  Star  of  Christian  Ages  is  shining  on  Thy  brow. 

Rejoice,  O  mighty  Mother,  that  God  hath  chosen  Thee 
To  be  the  western  warder  of  the  Islands  of  the  Sea ; 
He  lifteth  up,  He  casteth  down,  He  is  the  King  of  Kings, 
Whose  dread  commands  o'er  awe-struck  lands  are  borne 
on  eagle's  wings. 

GEORGE  EDWARD  WOODBERRY. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  author. 


THE    GROWTH    OF    EMPIRE        287 


FAITHFUL  UNTO   DEATH 

[At  the  Pan-American  Exposition  (May,  1901),  Buffalo,  N.  Y. 
President  William  McKinley,  who  made  an  address  there  on  Sep- 
tember 5,  ivas  shot  by  an  assassin,  in  line  to  take  his  hand  during 
a  popular  reception.  He  died,  September  14,  widely  lamented.} 

His  work  is  done,  his  toil  is  o'er ; 

A  martyr  for  our  land  he  fell — 

The  land  he  loved,  that  loved  him  well; 

Honor  his  name  for  evermore ! 

Let  all  the  world  its  tribute  pay, 

For  glorious  shall  be  his  renown ; 
Though  duty's  was  his  only  crown, 

Yet  duty's  path  is  glory's  way. 

For  he  was  great  without  pretence ; 

A  man  of   whom  none  whispered  shame, 
A  man  who  knew  nor  guile  nor  blame; 

Good  in  his  every  influence. 

On  battle-field,  in  council  hall, 

Long  years  with  sterling  service  rife 
He  gave  us,  and  at  last  his  life — 

Still  unafraid  at  duty's  call. 

Let  the  last  solemn  pageant  move, 
The  nation's  grief  to  consecrate 
To  him  struck  down  by  maniac  hate 

Amid  a  mighty  nation's  love; 

And  though  the  thought  it  solace  gives, 
Beside  the  martyr's  grave  to-day 
We  feel  't  is  almost  hard  to  say: 
"God  reigns  and  the  Republic  lives!" 

RICHARD  HANDFIELD  TITHERINGTON. 
By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


288       THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 


PANAMA 

[Theodore  Roosevelt — succeeding  McKinley  as  President — was 
a  virile  man  of  many  prompt  deeds.  Congress  in  1902,  for  $40,- 
000,000,  bought  out  a  French  company  failing  to  complete  a  canal 
across  the  Isthmus  of  Darien  to  Panama.  Roosevelt  sought  from 
the  Republic  of  Colombia,  of  which  Panama  was  a  State,  permis- 
sion to  construct  the  canal.  Colombia  made  difficulties;  Panama 
revolted,  seceded,  and  set  up  an  independent  republic,  which  Roose- 
velt quickly  recognised,  effected  with  it  a  Canal  treaty,  and  Con- 
gress authorised  the  construction.  It  was  opened  to  navigation 
August  15,  1914.  Meanwhile,  its  great  significance  was  widely 
extolled.] 

Here  the  oceans  twain  have  waited 
All  the  ages  to  be  mated, — 
Waited  long  and  waited  vainly, 
Though  the  script  was  written  plainly: 
"This,  the  portal  of  the  sea, 
Opes  for  him  who  holds  the  key; 
Here  the  empire  of  the  earth 
Waits  in  patience  for  its  birth." 

But  the  Spanish  monarch,  dimly 
Seeing  little,  answered  grimly : 
"North  and  South  the  land  is  Spain's, 
As  God  gave  it,  it  remains. 
He  who  seeks  to  break  the  tie, 
By  mine  honor,  he  shall  die !" 

So  the  centuries  rolled  on, 
And  the  gift  of  great  Colon, 
Like  a  spendthrift's  heritage, 
Dwindled  slowly,  age  by  age, 
Till  the  flag  of  red  and  gold 
Fell  from  hands  unnerved  and  old, 
And  the  granite-pillared  gate 
Waited  still  the  key  of  fate. 


THE   GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE       289 

Who  shall  hold  that  magic  key 

But  the  child  of  destiny, 

In  whose  veins  has  mingled  long 

All  the  best  blood  of  the  strong? 

He  who  takes  his  place  by  grace 

Of  no  single  tribe  or  race, 

But  by  many  a  rich  bequest 

From  the  bravest  and  the  best. 

Sentinel  of  duty,  here 

Must  he  guard  a  hemisphere. 

Let  the  old  world  keep  its  ways; 
Naught  to  him  its  blame  or  praise ; 
Naught  its  greed,  or  hate,  or  fear; 
For  all  swords  be  sheathed  here. 

Yea,  the  gateway  shall  be  free 
Unto  all,  from  sea  to  sea  ; 
And  no  fratricidal  slaughter 
Shall  defile  its  sacred  water ; 
But  the  hand  that  ope'd  the  gate 
shall  forever  hold  the  key ! 

JAMES  JEFFREY  ROCHE. 

From  "Ballads  of  Blue  Water,"  by  permission  of  the  Pilot  Pub- 
lishing Company,  and  by  courtesy  of  Arthur  Somers  Roche,  for 
the  Author. 


290       THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 


HYMN    OF   THE   WEST 

[The  purchase  of  the  vast  Northwestern  territory  of  Louisiana 
from  France  in  1804  was  commemorated  in  1904  by  a  great  Expo- 
sition at  St.  Louis,  opened  with  a  choral  singing  of  Stedman's 
"Hymn"  That  acquisition,  the  gaining  of  California  in  1846,  the 
Atlantic  Cable  in  1866,  purchase  of  Alaska  in  1867,  Pacific  Rail- 
road completion  in  1869,  taking  over  Hawaii,  Porto  Rico,  Guam, 
and  the  Philippines  in  1908,  and  the  spreading  of  civilisation  across 
the  Continent  within  the  century,  created  a  republican  Empire 
such  as  the  world  had  never  seen  before.} 

O  Thou,  whose  glorious  orbs  on  high 

Engird  the  earth  with  splendor  round, 
From  out  thy  secret  place  draw  nigh 
The  courts  and  temples  of  this  ground; 
Eternal  Light, 
Fill  with  thy  might 
These  domes  that  in  thy  purpose  grew, 
And  lift  a  nation's  heart  anew! 

Illumine  Thou  each  pathway  here, 

To  show  the  marvels  God  hath  wrought ! 
Since  first  thy  people's  chief  and  seer 
Looked  up  with  that  prophetic  thought, 
Bade  Time  unroll 
The  fateful  scroll, 
And  empire  unto  Freedom  gave 
From  cloudland  height  to  tropic  wave. 
Poured  through  the  gateways  of  the  North 

Thy  mighty  rivers  join  their  tide, 
And,  on  thy  wings  of  morn  sent  forth, 
Their  mists  the  far-off  peaks  divide. 
By  Thee  unsealed, 
The  mountains  yield 
Ores  that  the  wealth  of  Ophir  shame, 
And  gems  enwrought  of  seven-hued  flame. 


THE   GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE       291 

Lo,  through  what  years  the  soil  hath  lain 

At  thine  own  time  to  give  increase — 
The  greater  and  the  lesser  grain, 
The  ripening  boll,  the  myriad  fleece ! 
Thy  creatures  graze 
Appointed  ways ; 

League  after  league  across  the  land 
The  ceaseless  herds  obey  thy  hand. 

Thou,  whose  high  archways  shine  most  clear, 

Above  the  plenteous  Western  plain, 
Thine  ancient  tribes  from  round  the  sphere 
To  breathe  its  quickening  air  are  fain : 
And  smiles  the  sun 
To  see  made  one 

Their  brood  throughout  Earth's  greenest  space, 
Land  of  the  new  and  lordlier  race! 

EDMUND   CLARENCE   STEDMAN. 

By  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with,  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company,  the  authorized  Publishers. 


292       THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 
THOSE   REBEL   FLAGS 

DISCUSSED   BY    "ONE   OF   THE  YANKS" 

[The  growing  harmony  between  North  and  South — especially 
after  the  war  with  Spain — resulted  in  the  vote  of  Congress  (Feb- 
ruary, 1905)  confirming  a  general  desire  to  return  to  Southern 
States  the  captured  battle- flags  held  in  the  North.] 

Shall  we  send  back  the  Johnnies  their  bunting, 

In  token,  from  Blue  to  the  Gray, 
That  "Brothers-in-blood"  and  "Good  Hunting" 

Shall  be  our  new  watchword  to-day? 
In  olden  times  knights  held  it  knightly 

To  return  to  brave  foemen  the  sword; 
Will  the  Stars  and  the  Stripes  gleam  less  brightly 

If  the  old  Rebel  flags  are  restored? 

Call  it  sentiment,  call  it  misguided 

To  fight  to  the  death  for  "a  rag" ; 
Yet,  trailed  in  the  dust,  derided, 

The  true  soldier  still  loves  his  flag! 
Does  love  die,  and  must  honor  perish 

When  colors  and  causes  are  lost? 
Lives  the  soldier  who  ceases  to  cherish 

The  blood-stains  and  valor  they  cost? 

Our  battle-fields,  safe  in  the  keeping 

Of  Nature's  kind,  fostering  care, 
Are  blooming, — our  heroes  are  sleeping, — 

And  peace  broods  perennial  there. 
All  over  our  land  rings  the  story 

Of  loyalty,  fervent  and  true; 
"One  flag/'  and  that  flag  is  "Old  Glory," 

Alike  for  the  Gray  and  the  Blue. 

Why  cling  to  those  moth-eaten  banners  ? 

What  glory  or  honor  to  gain 
While  the  nation  is  shouting  hosannas, 

Uniting  her  sons  to  fight  Spain? 


THE   GROWTH    OF   EMPIRE        293 

Time  is  ripe,  and  the  harvest  worth  reaping, 

Send  the  Johnnies  their  flags  f.  o.  b., 
Address  to  the  care  and  safe-keeping 

Of  that  loyal  "old  Reb,"  Fitzhugh  Lee ! 

Yes,  send  back  the  Johnnies  their  bunting, 
With  greetings  from  Blue  to  the  Gray; 

We  are  "Brothers-in-blood,"  and  "Good  Hunting" 
Is  America's  watchword  to-day. 

JOHN  HOWARD  JEWETT. 

From   "Friends   of  the  Hunted/1   by   kind  permission   of    the 
Author. 


294       THE    GROWTH   OF  EMPIRE 


THE   POLAR   QUEST 

[Written  years  before  the  actual  finding  of  the  North  Pole  by 
Admiral  Robert  E.  Peary  on  April  6,  1909;  but  graphically  shows 
the  spirit  of  that  bold  undertaking.] 

Unconquerably,  men  venture  on  the  quest 
And  seek  an  ocean  amplitude  unsailed, 

Cold,  virgin,  awful.     Scorning  ease  and  rest, 
And  heedless  of  the  heroes  who  have  failed, 

They  face  the  ice-floes  with  a  dauntless  zest. 

The  polar  quest !  Life's  offer  to  the  strong ! 

To  pass  beyond  the  pale,  to  do  and  dare, 
Leaving  a  name  that  stirs  us  like  a  song. 

And  making  captive  some  strange  Otherwhere, 
Though  grim  the  conquest,  and  the  labor  long. 

Forever  courage  kindles,  faith  moves  forth 
To  find  the  mystic  floodway  of  the  North. 

RICHARD  BURTON. 

From  "Lyrics  of  Brotherhood,"  by  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


THE   GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE       295 


NATIONAL   SONG 

America,  my  own! 

Thy  spacious  grandeurs  rise 
Faming  the  proudest  zone 

Pavilioned  by  the  skies ; 
Day's  flying  glory  breaks 

Thy  vales  and  mountains  o'er 
And  gilds  thy  streams  and  lakes 

From  ocean  shore  to  shore. 

Praised  be  thy  wood  and  wold, 

Thy  corn  and  wine  and  flocks, 
The  yellow  blood  of  gold 

Drained  from  thy  canon  rocks ; 
Thy  trains  that  shake  the  land, 

Thy  ships  that  plough   the  main, 
Triumphant  cities  grand 

Roaring  with  noise  of  gain. 

Earth's  races  look  to  Thee: 

The  peoples  of  the  world 
Thy  risen  splendors  see 

And  thy  wide  flag  unfurled; 
Thy  sons,  in  peace  or  war, 

That  emblem  who  behold, 
Bless  every  shining  star, 

Cheer  every  streaming  fold! 

Float  high,  O  gallant  flag, 

O'er  Carib  Isles  of  palm, 
O'er  bleak  Alaskan  crag, 

O'er  far-off  lone  Guam; 
Where  Mauna  Loa  pours 

Black  thunder  from  the  deeps ; 
O'er  Mindanao's  shores, 

O'er  Luzon's  coral  steeps. 


296       THE    GROWTH   OF   EMPIRE 

Float  high,  and  be  the  sign 

Of  love  and  brotherhood, — 
The  pledge,  by  right  divine 

Of  Power,  to  do  good; 
For  aye  and  everywhere, 
On  continent  and  wave, 
Omnipotent  to  dare, 
Imperial  to  save ! 

WILLIAM  HENRY  VENABLE. 

Copyrighted  by  Dodd,  Mead  &  Company,  with  whose  permis- 
sion the  poem  is  used. 


VI 

THE  WORLD  WAR:  OUTLOOK 


WILD   WEATHER 

A  great  wind  sweeps 

Across  the  world,  hurling  to  heaps 

Of  gilded  rubbish  crowns  and  thrones,  mere  gleam 

And  flicker  of  dry  leaves  in  its  fierce  path, 

A  wind  whose  very  wrath 

Springs  from  white  Alpine  crests  of  thought  and  dream. 

What  sword  can  quell 

An  unleashed  tempest,  and  compel 

Hush  to  the  thunder,  patience  to  the  storm? 

The  maddened  blast  that  buffets  sea  and  land 

Blows  under  high  command, 

Rending  and  riving  only  to  transform. 

May  its  wild  wings 

Burst  the  old  tanglement  of  things, 

Those  withered  vines  and  brambles  that  enmesh 

The  leaping  foot !  May  its  rough  flail  destroy 

Hedges  that  limit  joy, 

Leaving,  like  rain,  a  silvery  earth  and  fresh ! 

Faith  shall  not  quail 

For  broken  branches.    Of  the  gale 

Time  is  a  strong  corrival  and  will  win; 

When  hurricane  has  done  its  dread  behest, 

And  forests  are  at  rest, 

His  quiet  hand  will  lead  the  sunshine  in. 

KATHERINE  LEE  BATES. 

From  the  Boston  Evening  Transcript  of  Nov.  23,  1918,  with  per- 
mission of  that  journal  and  by  courtesy  of  the  Author. 

297 


298     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


ABRAHAM    LINCOLN   WALKS    AT    MIDNIGHT 

It  is  portentous,  and  a  thing  of  state 

That  here  at  midnight,  in  our  little  town 

A  mourning  figure  walks,  and  will  not  rest, 

Near  the  old  court-house  and  pacing  up  and  down, 

Or,  by  his  homestead,  or  in  shadowed  yards 
He  lingers  where  his  children  used  to  play 
Or  through  the  market,  on  the  well-worn  stones 
He  stalks  until  the  dawn-stars  burn  away. 

A  bronzed,  lank  man !   His  suit  of  ancient  black, 
A  famous  high  top-hat  and  plain  worn  shawl 

Make  him  the  quaint  great  figure  that  men  love, 
The  prairie-lawyer,  master  of  us  all. 

He  cannot  sleep  upon  his  hillside  now. 

He  is  among  us ; — as  in  times  before !          • 
And  we  who  toss  and  lie  awake  for  long 

Breathe  deep,  and  start,  to  see  him  pass  the  door. 

His  head  is  bowed.    He  thinks  on  men  and  kings. 

Yea,  when  the  sick  world  cries,  how  can  he  sleep  ? 
Too  many  peasants  fight,  they  know  not  why, 

Too  many  homesteads  in  black  terror  weep. 

The  sins  of  all  the  war-lords  burn  his  heart. 

He  sees  the  dreadnaughts  scouring  every  main. 
He  carries  on  his  shawl-wrapped  shoulders  now 

The  bitterness,  the  folly  and  the  pain. 

He  cannot  rest  until  a  spirit-dawn 

Shall  come; — the  shining  hope  of  Europe  free: 
The  league  of  sober  folk,  the  Workers'  Earth, 

Bringing  long  peace  to  Cornland,  Alp  and  Sea. 


THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK     299 

It  breaks  his  heart  that  kings  must  murder  still, 
That  all  his  hours  of  travail  here  for  men 

Seem  yet  in  vain.     And  who  will  bring  white  peace 
That  he  may  sleep  upon  his  hill  again  ? 

NICHOLAS  VACHEL  LINDSAY. 

From  "The  Congo  and  Other  Poems,"  by  permission  of  the  Au- 
thor and  of  the  Macmillan  Company.  Originally  published  in  The 
Independent,  Feb.  15,  1919. 


300     THE   WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 
THE   BEACON    LIGHT 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

[Austria's  war  declaration  against  little  Serbia  over  a  police  mat- 
ter, July  28,  1914,  and  Germany's  instant  attack  on  Russia  and 
through  Belgium  on  France,  showed  the  plot  for  the  Great  War. 
Britain  entered,  to  redeem  Belgian  neutrality,  and  to  help  France. 
The  American  Government  held  aloof,  except  for  protests,  hoping 
to  keep  out;  but  the  people  grew  furious  over  submarine  outrages, 
Roosevelt  and  others  demanded  preparation  and  participation,  and 
on  April  6,  1917,  at  the  request  of  President  Wilson,  Congress 
declared  war — arousing  joy  in  England  and  exultation  here.} 

In  the  gray  dim  light  where  Time  is  not, 
Where  star  dust  falls  and  dreams  arise, 

A  fearless  soul  winged  its  earthward  flight 
And  clove  the  space  that  veils  the  skies. 

When  His  mighty  plan  unfolded  slow 

And  the  rage  of  battle  shook  the  world — 
When  the  seas  were  strewn  with  wrecks  and  blood 

And  the  flags  of  Right  were  almost  furled — 
A  voice  rang  out  through  the  night  of  flame 

That  wrapped  the  earth  where  death  light  shone, 
And  called  to  men  to  awake,  to  fight, 

To  pledge  their  lives  to  protect  their  own. 
From  sunlit  plains  in  the  golden  West 

Where  tall  grass  creeps  to  the  river's  side, 
From  snow-hung  pines  to  the  purple  gulf 

The  nation  rose  like  a  human  tide. 
In  that  twilight  realm  where  star  dust  falls,    . 

That  fearless  soul  stands  guard,  alone; 
While  his  message  flames,  a  beacon  light : 

Protect  this  land  that  is  your  own. 

MURRAY  KETCHAM  KIRK. 

From  the  Ladies'  Home  Journal,  April,  1920,  by  courtesy  of  the 
Author  arj(i  of  the  Publishers. 


THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK     301 


AMERICA   RESURGENT 

[When  the  United  States  had  broken  diplomatic  relations  with 
Germany,  to  become  an  associate  in  the  war.] 

She  is  risen  from  the  dead ! 

Loose  the  tongue  and  lift  the  head; 

Let  the  sons  of  light  rejoice. 
She  has  heard  the  challenge  clear ; 
She  has  answered,  "I  am  here" ; 

She  has  made  the  stainless  choice. 

Bound  with  iron  and  with  gold — 
But  her  limbs  they  could  not  hold 

When  the  word  of  words  was  spoken; 
Freedom  calls — 
The  prison  walls 

Tumble,  and  the  bolts  are  broken ! 

Hail  her!  She  is  ours  again — 
Hope  and  heart  of  harassed  men 

And  the  tyrants'  doom  and  terror. 
Send  abroad  the  old  alarms; 
Call  to  arms,  to  arms,  to  arms, 

Hands  of  doubt  and  feet  of  error! 

Cheer  her !  She  is  free  at  last, 
With  her  back  upon  the  past, 

With  her  foot  upon  the  bars. 
Hosts  of  freedom  sorely  prest, 
Lo,  a  light  is  in  the  West, 

And  a  helmet  full  of  Stars ! 

WENDELL  PHILLIPS  STAFFORD. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


302     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


THE  AMERICAN  PEOPLE  TO  THE  ALLIES 

If  they  tell  you  that  we  hold 

Right  and  wrong  are  much  the  same: 
That  with  equal  share  of  blame 

The  defender  of  the  fold 

And  the  ravening  wolf  we  name — 
Don't  believe  it! 

If  they  tell  you  that  we  think, 
'  When  the  robber  comes  by  night 

And  we  see  'neath  murderous  Might 
Innocence  unfriended  sink, 

We  should  be  "too  proud  to  fight" — 
Don't  believe  it! 

If  they  tell  you  we  are  cold 

When  strong  men,  and  maids  as  brave, 
May  not  life  from  bondage  save — 

We  who  gave  unstinted  gold, 

And  our  heart's  blood,  for  the  slave! — 
Don't  believe  it ! 

If — O  gallant  souls  and  true  ! — 
If  they  tell  you  we  judge  well 
Ways  of  Heaven  and  ways  of  Hell : 

That  the  honor  dear  to  you 
Also  in  our  souls  doth  dwell — 
Oh,  believe  it! 

If  they  tell  you  our  heart's  cry: 
That,  whate'er  the  danger  near, 
One,  one  only  loss  we  fear ; 
And  are  ready,  too,  to  die 

For  the  things  that  you  hold  dear — 
Oh,  believe  it! 

FLORENCE  EARLE  COATES. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK     303 


THE    ROAD    TO    FRANCE 

[Prise  poem  (1917)  chosen  from  some  4,000  entries,  by  the  Na- 
tional Arts  Club,  New  York.] 

Thank  God,  our  liberating  lance 
Goes  flaming  on  the  way  to  France ! 
To  France — the  trail  the  Gurkhas  found ; 
To  France — old  England's  rallying-ground ! 
To  France — the  path  the  Russians  strode ! 
To  France — the  Anzac's  glory  road ! 
To  France — where  our  Lost  Legion  ran 
To  fight  and  die  for  God  and  man ! 
To  France — with  every  race  and  breed 
That  hates  Oppression's  brutal  creed! 

Ah,  France,  how  could  our  hearts  forget 
The  path  by  which  came  Lafayette? 
How  could  the  haze  of  doubt  hang  low 
Upon  the  road  of  Rochambeau? 
How  was  it  that  we  missed  the  way 
Brave  Joffre  leads  along  today? 
At  last,  thank  God !   At  last,  we  see 
There  is  no  tribal  Liberty ! 
No  beacon  lighting  just  our  shores, 
No  Freedom  guarding  but  our  doors. 
The  flame  she  kindled  for  our  sires 
Burns  now  in  Europe's  battle-fires. 
The  soul  that  led  our  fathers  west 
Turns  back  to  free  the  world  opprest. 

Allies,  you  have  not  called  in  vain ; 

We  share  your  conflict  and  your  pain. 

"Old  Glory,"  through  new  stains  and  rents, 

Partakes  of  Freedom's  sacraments. 

Into  that  hell  his  will  creates 

We  drive  the  foe — his  lusts,  his  hates. 


304    THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 

Last  come,  we  will  be  last  to  stay, 
Till  Right  has  had  her  crowning  day. 
Replenish,   comrades,   from  our  veins 
The  blood  the  sword  of  despot  drains, 
And  make  our  eager  sacrifice 
Part  of  the  freely  rendered  price 
You  pay  to  lift  humanity — 
You  pay  to  make  our  brothers  free. 
See,  with  what  proud  hearts  we  advance 
To  France ! 

DANIEL  MAC!NTYRE  HENDERSON. 

From  "Life's  Minstrel :  A  Book  of  Verse."  E.  P.  Button  &  Com- 
pany; by  kind  permission  of  the  Author  and  the  Publishers. 


THE   WORLD   WAR:    OUTLOOK    305 


THE   NEW   CRUSADE 

Life  is  a  trifle ; 

Honor  is  all ; 
Shoulder  the  rifle; 

Answer  the  call. 
"A  nation  of  traders" ! 

We'll  show  what  ive  are, 
Freedom's  crusaders 

Who  war  against  war. 

Battle  is  tragic  ; 

Battle  shall  cease; 
Ours  is  the  magic 

Mission  of  Peace. 

Gladly  we  barter 

Gold  of  our  youth 
For  Liberty's  charter 

Blood-sealed  in  truth. 
"A  nation  of  traders" ! 

We'll  show  what  we  are, 
Freedom's  crusaders 

Who  war  against  war. 

Sons  of  the  granite, 

Strong  be  our  stroke, 
Making  this  planet 

Safe  for  the  folk. 

Life  is  but  passion, 

Sunshine  on  dew. 
Forward  to  fashion 

The  old  world  anew! 
"A  nation  of  traders" ! 

We'll  show  what  we  are, 
Freedom's  crusaders 

Who  war  against  war. 

KATHERINE  LEE  BATES. 

From  "The  Retinue,"  by  permission  of  Messrs.  E.  P,  Dutton  & 
Company,  and  the  courtesy  of  the  Author, 


306     THE   WORLD   WAR:    OUTLOOK 


IN  HONOR  OF  AMERICA 

[In  antithesis  to  Rossetti's  "On  the  Refusal  of  Aid  Between 
Nations."] 

Not  that  the  earth  is  changing,  O  my  God ! 

Not  that  her  brave  democracies  take  heart 

To  share,  to  rule  her  treasure,  to  impart 
The  wine  to  those  who  long  the  wine-press  trod; 
Not  therefor  trust  we  that  beneath  Thy  nod, 

Thy  silent  benediction,  even  now 

In  gratitude  so  many  nations  bow. 
So  many  poor :  not  therefor,  O  my  God ! 

But  because  living  men  for  dying  man 
Go  to  a  million  deaths,  to  deal  one  blow ; 

And  justice  speaks  one  great  compassionate  tongue ; 
And  nation  unto  nation  calls  "One  clan 

We  succorers  are,  one  tribe !"  By  this  we  know 
Our  earth  holds  confident,  steadfast,  being  young. 

ALICE  MEYNELL. 
The  Times,  London. 


THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK    307 


THE    MESSAGE 

Great  documents  our  chronicles  afford 
Since  the  low  cabin  of  the  Mayflower 
Drew  the  first  instrument :  and  human  power 

Ne'er  found  a  seat  so  firm,  so  long  a  sword, 

As  issued  thence,  clothed  in  the  Written  Word, 
Which  then  began  in  time  its  Sovereign  hour : 
Whatever  storm  may  rise  or  tempest  lower, 

Through  lengthening  ages  is  that  still  voice  heard. 

Jefferson   with   that   might  breathed    forth   the    State; 

Washington  thus  moulded  its  policy; 
Lincoln  beheld  the  wilderness  grow  great, 

And  with  his  pen  filled  it  with  liberty ; 
Now  is  our  message  to  all  nations  sent : 
Go  forth,  sweet  gospel,   Freedom's  argument. 

GEORGE  EDWARD  WOODBERRY. 

From  "The  Roamer,"  by  permission  of  Messrs.  Brace,  Harcourt 
and  Company,  and  the  courtesy  of  the  Author. 


308     THE   WORLD   WAR:   OUTLOOK 


SONG  FOR  OUR  FIGHTING  MEN 

The  kind  men,  my  brothers,  are  going  away  to  fight 
In  the  red  fields  of  Flanders,  where  bones  bleach  white, 
On  the  rough  English  waters,  with  their  terrible  chance, 
In  the  brave  air  that  blows  above  the  sad  land  of  France. 

And  the  kind  men,  my  brothers,  will  never,  never  know 
Of  the  thanks  I  would  give ;  with  a  smile  they  must  go, 
With  a  rough  word  spoken,  and  a  quick  Yankee  jest, 
And  night  by  night  I  think  of  them,  long  before  I  rest. 

For  they  are  my  brothers,  and  I  am  their  kin, 
Man  of  money,  man  of  God,  and  weary  man  of  sin, 
Lumberjack  and  grocerman  and  carrier  of  the  hod, 
And  those  who  get  our  food  for  us  by  breaking  the  sod. 

Little  clerks  who  spend  the  days  counting  with  a  pen, 
Factory  hands  putty-pale,  and  ruddy  Western  men 
From  the  ranges  and  the  ranches,  the  forest  and  the  sea, 
For  all  have  been  chivalrous  as  kinsmen  to  me. 

When  I  have  been  weary,  they  have  shortened  the  way, 
They  have  stood  that  I  might  rest  at  the  end  of  the  day, 
They  have  lifted  my  burdens  that  my  strength  might  not 

fail, 
They  have  told  me  their  wisdom  like  a  quaint  old  tale. 

Oh,  how  can  I  honor  them  with  a  woman's  praise  ? 
The  men  of  my  country,  who  are  guarding  the  ways 
To  the  goals  most  holy  that  the  clean  nations  seek — 
Oh,  how  can  I  honor  them,  and  what  can  I  speak  ? 

For  the  red  fields  of  Flanders  and  the  valleys  of  France 
And  the  rough  English  waters  with  their  terrible  chance 
Are  claiming  my  brothers,  and  bravely  they  go, 
And  the  thanks  I  would  offer  them  they  never,  never 
know. 


THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK     309 

Words  are  too  weak  for  the  weight  of  my  pain, 

Words  are  too  poor,  I  would  praise  them  in  vain ; 

For  the  dear  land  they  love,  and   for   the   cause  they 

glorify, 
The  kind  men,  my  brothers,  are  going  away  to  die. 

MARGUERITE  WILKINSON. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  Author  and  of  the  New  York  Times. 


310     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


A   SOLDIER 
1918 

Dear  God,  I  raised  my  boy  to  be  a  soldier; 

I  tried  to  make  him  strong  of  will  and  true; 
I  told  him  many  a  tale  of  deeds  heroic — 

The  noblest  and  the  sweetest  tales  I  knew. 

In  thought,  he  shared  the  charge  at  Balaclava, 

With  the   Swiss   Guard,  overmastered   coward  Death, 

With  Gordon  all  renounced,  with  Scott  and  Peary 
Breathed  in  his  ardent  youth  heroic  breath. 

A  little  lad,  he  wept  for  wounded  Sidney, 

For  Bayard,  sans  reproche,  who  knew  no  fears, 

Yet,  hurt  himself,  if  one  but  said, — "My  Soldier!" — 
Straightway  he  smiled  and  swallowed  down  his  tears. 

I  taught  him  that  the  brave  are  full  of  mercy ; 

That  gentleness  and  love  to  strength  belong; 
That  honor  is  the  only  High  adventure, 

And  goodness  the  one  everlasting  song! 

And  so  I  raised  my  boy  to  be  a  soldier : 

A  patriot  soldier,  brave,  devoted,  free ! 
And  now,  and  now, — with  grateful  trust,  O  Father! 

I  give  him  to  my  Country  and  to  Thee ! 

FLORENCE  EARLE  COAXES. 

From  The  Bellman,  by  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK     311 

THE   LITTLE    STAR    IN    THE    WINDOW 

[The  accredited  emblem  of  a  member  of  the  family  absent,  with 
the  army.] 

There's  a  little  star  in  the  window  of  the  house  across  the 

way, 
A  little  star,  red  bordered,   on  a  ground   of   pearly 

white ; 

I  can  see  its  gleam  at  evening ;  it  is  bright  at  dawn  of  day, 
And  I  know  it  has  been  shining  through  the  long  and 
dismal  night. 

The  folks  who  pass  the  window  on  the  busy  city  street, 

I  often  notice,  turn  a  glance  before  they  hurry  by, 
And  one,  a  gray  haired  woman,  made  curtsy,  low  and 

sweet, 

While  something  like  a  teardrop  was  glistening  in  her 
eye. 

And  yesterday  an  aged  man,  by  life's  stern  battle  spent, 
His  empty  coat  sleeve  hanging  down,  a  witness  sadly 

mute, 
Gave  one  swift  look  and  halted — his  form  full  height, 

unbent — 
And  ere  he  passed  his  hand  came  up  in  soldierly  salute. 

The  little  star  in  the  window  is  aflame  with  living  fire, 
For  it  was  lit  at  the  hearthstone  where  a  lonely  mother 

waits ; 
And  she  has  stained  its  crimson  with  the  glow  of  her 

heart's  desire, 

And    brightened    its    pearl-white    heaven    beyond    the 
world's  dark  hates. 

The  star  shall  shine  through  the  battle  when  the  shafts 

of  death  are  hurled ; 
It  shall  shine  through  the  long  night  watches  in  the 

foremost  trenches'  line ; 
Over  the  waste  of  waters,  and  beyond  the  verge  of  the 

world, 

Like  the  guiding  Star  of  the  Magi  its  blessed  rays  shall 
shine. 


312     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 

The  little  star  in  the  window  shall  beacon  your  boy's 

return 
As  his  eyes  are  set  to  the  homeland,  when  the  call  of 

the  guns  shall  cease; 
In  the  Flag's  high  constellation  through  the  ages  it  shall 

burn, 

A  pledge  of  his  heart's  devotion,  a  sign  of  his  people's 
peace. 

JOHN  JEROME  ROONEY. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  Author,  and  of  the  Sun-Herald  Cor- 
poration for  the  New  York  Sun. 


THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK     313 


TO    GENERAL   PERSHING 

[The  officer  commanding  the  American  Expeditionary  Forces  in 
France  was  Major-General  John  J.  Pershing,  of  the  United  States 
Army,  a  seasoned  soldier.  From  small  beginnings  he  organized  the 
great  army  as  it  arrived,  and  finally  led  them  to  a  brilliant  share  in 
the  glories  of  victory.] 

You  led  our  sons  across  the  haunted  flood 

Into  the  Canaan  of  their  high  desire — 

No  milk  and  honey  there,  but  tears  and  blood 

Flowed  where  the  hosts  of  evil  trod  in  fire, 

And  left  a  worse  than  desert  where  they  passed. 

Your  eyes  were  clear  to  see  the  snares  that  lay 

Before  those  boyish  feet  that  marched  so  fast — 

Your  heart  and  hands  were  strong  to  clean  the  way. 

Charged  with  great  cares,  your  soul  did  not  forget 

The  anxious  women  here  across  the  sea. 

As  might  a  father  for  his  own,  you  met 

And  fought  an  older  foe  than  Germany. 

Now,  now  at  last,  back  from  the  silenced  guns, 

Crowned  by  our  blessings  you  shall  lead  our  sons. 

AMELIA  JOSEPHINE  BURR. 

By  kind  permission  of  the  Author,  and  of  the  Boston  Evening 
Transcript,  in  which  the  poem  appeared,  November  23,  1918. 


314     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


I  HAVE  A  RENDEZVOUS  WITH   DEATH 

[Written  in  1916  by  a  young  American  who,  in  September,  1914, 
being  in  France,  had  joined  the  Foreign  Legion  there.  He  was 
killed  in  action  at  Belloy-en-Santerre,  on  July  4,  1916.] 

I  have  a  rendezvous  with  Death 

At  some  disputed  barricade; 

When  Spring  comes  back  with  rustling  shade 

And  apple  blossoms  fill  the  air — 

I  have  a  rendezvous  with  Death 

When  Spring  brings  back  blue  days  and  fair. 

It  may  be  he  shall  take  my  hand 

And  lead  me  into  his  dark  land, 

And  close  my  eyes  and  quench  my  breath — 

It  may  be  I  shall  pass  him  still. 

I  have  a  rendezvous  with  Death 

On  some  scarred  slope  of  battered  hill, 

When  Spring  comes  round  again  this  year 

And  the  first  meadow  flowers  appear. 

God  knows  'twere  better  to  be  deep 
Pillowed  on  silk  and  scented  down, 
Where  Love  throbs  out  in  blissful  sleep, 
Pulse  nigh  to  pulse,  and  breath  to  breath, 
Where  hushed  awakenings  are  dear — 
But  I've  a  rendezvous  with  Death, 
At  midnight  in  some  flaming  town, 
When  Spring  trips  north  again  this  year, 
And  I  to  my  pledged  word  am  true, 
I  shall  not  fail  that  rendezvous. 

ALAN  SEEGER. 

By  permission  from  "Poems  by  Alan  Seeger." 
Copyright,  1916,  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


THE   WORLD   WAR:   OUTLOOK    315 


AMERICA'S   ANSWER 

Take  up  our  quarrel  with  the  foe: 
To  you  from  failing  hands  we  throw 

The  torch;  be  yours  to  hold  it  high. 

If  ye  break  faith  with  us  who  die 
We  shall  not  sleep,  though  poppies  grow 

In  Flanders  Fields. 

JOHN  McCRAE. 

Rest  ye  in  Peace,  ye  Flanders  dead; 
The  fight  that  ye  so  bravely  led 
We've  taken  up  and  we  will  keep 
True  faith  with  you  who  lie  asleep. 

Fear  not  that  ye  have  died  for  naught — 
The  torch  ye  threw  to  us  we  caught ; 
Ten  million  hands  will  hold  it  high, 
And  Freedom's  light  shall  never  die; 
We've  learned  the  lesson  that  you  taught 
In  Flanders  fields. 

R.    W.    LlLLARD. 

From  "Memorial  Day  Suggestions,"  edited  by  Miss  Bessie  Bacon 
Goodrich,  by  courtesy  of  the  Editor  and  of  the  State  Normal 
School,  Johnson,  Vt. 


316     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


QUENTIN  ROOSEVELT 

As  falls  the  fragment  of  a  mighty  star 

Into  the  night,  where  all  was  dark  before ; 
A  brilliant  flash  attracting  men  afar, 

Seen  but  a  moment,  to  be  seen  no  more ; 
So,  in  the  sky,  this  youthful  warrior  bold, 

Outlined  a  brilliant  course  before  he  fell, 
Turning  a  silver  star  to  one  of  gold, 

A  star  to  be  remembered  long  and  well. 
What  matters  that  the  fitful  course  was  brief 

And  vanished  swiftly  in  eternal  night? 
In  such  a  fall  there  is  no  cause  for  grief, 

For  souls  like  these  leave  trails  of  golden  light. 
He  vSpread  the  glory  of  his  country's  fame, 

And  added  luster  to  a  noble  name. 

LEON  HUHNER. 

From  the  Current  History  Magazine,  January,  1919,  by  courtesy 
of  the  Author. 


THE    WORLD   WAR:    OUTLOOK     317 


THE  RAINDROPS  ON  YOUR  OLD  TIN  HAT 

[Written  by  Lieut.  J.  Hunter  Wicker  sham,  353d  Infantry,  89th 
Division,  on  the  eve  of  the  St.  Mihiel  attack,  and  inclosed  in  his 
last  letter  to  his  mother,  Mrs.  Mary  E.  Damon,  of  Denver,  Col. 
Lieut.  Wickersham  was  killed  the  following  day,  September  12, 
1918,  near  Limey,  in  an  exploit  which  won  for  him  the  posthumous 
award  of  the  Congressional  Medal  of  Honor.] 

The  mist  hangs  low  and  quiet  on  a  ragged  line  of  hills, 
There's  a  whispering  of  wind  across  the  flat, 

You'd  be  feeling  kind  of  lonesome  if  it  wasn't  for  one 

thing — 
The  patter  of  the  raindrops  on  your  old  tin  hat. 

An'  you  can't  help  a-figuring — sitting  there  alone — 

About  this  war  and  hero  stuff  and  that, 
And  you  wonder  if  they  haven't  sort  of  got  things  twisted 
up, 

While  the  rain  keeps  up  its  patter  on  your  old  tin  hat. 

When  you  step  off  with  the  outfit  to  do  your  little  bit 
You're  simply  doing  what  you're  s'posed  to  do — 

And  you  don't  take  time  to  figure  what  you  gain  or  lose — 
It's  the  spirit  of  the  game  that  brings  you  through. 

But  back  at  home  she's  waiting,  writing  cheerful  little 
notes, 

And  every  night  she  offers  up  a  prayer 
And  just  keeps  on  a-hoping  that  her  soldier  boy  is  safe — 

The  Mother  of  the  boy  who's  over  there. 

And,  fellows,  she's  the  hero  of  this  great  big  ugly  war, 

And  her  prayer  is  on  the  wind  across  the  flat, 
And  don't  you  reckon  maybe  it's  her  tears,  and  not  the 

rain, 

That's  keeping  up  the  patter  on  your  old  tin  hat  ? 

J.  HUNTER  WICKERSHAM. 

By  courtesy  of  the  American  Legion  Weekly. 


318     THE   WORLD   WAR:   OUTLOOK 


JUST  THINKIN' 

[The  issue  of  the  American  war  paper,  "The  Stars  and  Stripes" 
in  Fmnce  during  the  last  years  of  the  fighting,  was  a  genuine  in- 
spiration — edited,  written  and  printed  by  soldiers  for  soldiers.  The 
two  following  pieces,  selected  from  the  keenly  interesting  book — 
"Yanks  A.E.F.  Verse,"  by  permission  of  the  Publishers,  Messrs. 
G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons — of  poems  originally  printed  in  "The  Army 
Poets"  column,  show  something  of  the  spirit  evoked  in  brave  men 
under  discomforts,  perils,  and  death  in  the  field  of  active  war.} 

Standing  up  here  on  the  fire-step, 

Lookin'  ahead  in  the  mist, 
With  a  tin  hat  over  your  ivory 

And  a  rifle  clutched  in  your  fist ; 
Waitin'  and  watchin'  and  wond'rin' 

If  the  Hun's  comin'  over  to-night — 
Say,  ain't  the  things  you  think  of 

Enough  to  give  you  a  fright  ? 

Things  you  ain't  even  thought  of 

For  a  couple  o'  months  or  more ; 
Things  that  'ull  set  you  laughin', 

Things  that  'ull  make  you  sore ; 
Things  that  you  saw  in  the  movies, 

Things  that  you  saw  on  the  street, 
Things  that  you're  really  proud  of, 

Things  that  are — not  so  sweet. 

Debts  that  are  past  collectin', 

Stories  you  hear  and  forget, 
Ball  games  and  birthday  parties, 

Hours  of  drill  in  the  wet ; 
Headlines,  recruitin'  posters, 

Sunsets  'way  out  at  sea, 
Evenings  of  pay  days — golly, 

It's  a  queer  thing,  this  memory! 


THE   WORLD   WAR:   OUTLOOK    319 

Faces  of  pals  in  Homeburg 

Voices  of  women  folk, 
Verses  you  learnt  in  schooldays 

Pop  up  in  the  mist  and  smoke, 
As  you  stand  there,  grippin'  that  rifle, 

A-starin',  and  chilled  to  the  bone, 
Wonderin'   and   wonderin'   and   wonderin', 

Just  thinkin'  there — all  alone! 

When  will  the  war  be  over? 

When  will  the  gang  break  through? 
What  will  the  U.  S.  look  like  ? 

What  will  there  be  to  do  ? 
Where  will  the  Boches  be  then? 

Who  will  have  married  Nell? 
When's  that  relief  a-comin'  up? 

Gosh!    But  this  thinkin's  hell! 

HUDSON  HAWLEY,  Pvt,  M.G.  Bn. 

Yanks  A.E.F:  Verse. 


320     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


THE  WOOD  CALLED  ROUGE-BOUQUET 

[Dedicated  to  the  memory  of  19  members  of  Co.  E,  l6Sth  In- 
fantry, who  made  the  supreme  sacrifice  at  Rouge-Bouquet,  Forest 
of  Parroy,  France,  March  7 ;  read  by  the  chaplain  at  the  funeral, 
the  refrain  echoing  the  music  of  Taps  from  a  distant  grove.] 


In  the  woods  they  call  Rouge-Bouquet 
There  is  a  new-made  grave  today, 
Built  by  never  a  spade  or  pick, 
Yet  covered  with  earth  ten  metres  thick. 

There  lie  many  fighting  men, 

Dead  in  their  youthful  prime, 
Never  to  laugh  or  live  again 

Or  taste  of  the  summer  time ; 

For  death  came  flying  through  the  air 
And  stopped  his  flight  at  the  dugout  stair, 

Touched  his  prey — 
And  left  them  there — 

Clay  to  clay. 

He  hid  their  bodies  stealthily 
In  the  soil  of  the  land  they  sought  to  free, 

And  fled  away. 

Now  over  the  grave,  abrupt  and  clear, 

Three  volleys  ring; 
And   perhaps   their  brave   young   spirits   hear: 

Go  to  sleep — 

Go  to  sleep — 

(Taps  sounding  in  distance.} 

II 

There  is  on  earth  no  worthier  grave 
To  hold  the  bodies  of  the  brave 
Than  this  spot  of  pain  and  pride 
Where  they  nobly  fought  and  nobly  died. 


THE   WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK    321 

Never  fear  but  in  the  skies 

Saints  and  angels  stand, 
Smiling  with  their  holy  eyes 

On  this  new-come  band. 

St.  Mihiel's  sword  darts  through  the  air 
And  touches  the  aureole  on  his  hair, 
As  he  sees  them  stand  saluting  there 

His  stalwart  sons ; 

And  Patrick,  Bridget,  and  Columbkill 
Rejoice  that  in  veins  of  warriors  still 

The  Gael's  blood  runs 

And  up  to  Heaven's  doorway  floats, 

From  the  woods  called  Rouge-Bouquet, 
A  delicate  sound  of  bugle  notes 
That  softly  say: 
Farewell — 
Farewell — 

(Taps  sounding  in  distance.) 

L'ENVOI 

Comrades  true, 
Born  anew, 
Peace  to  you ; 

Your  souls  shall  be  where  the  heroes  are, 
And  your  memory  shine  like  the  morning  star, 
Brave  and  dear, 
Shield  us  here — 
Farewell ! 

JOYCE  KILMER,  Sgt,  Inf. 
Killed  in  action,  July  30,  1918. 

Yanks  A.E.F.  Verse,  with  permissions  above  noted,  and  of 
Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons  (Copyright,  1918),  the  George 
H.  Doran  Company  (Copyright,  1919),  and  the  courtesy  of  Mrs. 
Aline  (Joyce)  Kilmer. 


322     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


AN  AMERICAN  ACE 

Tell  me,  who  are  you,  Dead  Man,  Dead  Man — 

Flung  by  on  the  rain  and  the  wind  ? 

Has  wrath  so  wizened  your  pallid  lips, 

Or  scarlet  sins  you  have  sinned? 

They  caught  me  on  the  edge  of  night, 
As  Belgium's  borders  glimmered  white 
And  her  windmills  groaned  in  the  ghostly  light; 
They  crushed  my  wings  in  the  midst  of  flight — 
That  was  not  I. 

From  your  tumble,  from  your  headlong  race, 
The  blood  drips  back  down  your  hueless  face. 

Not  from  my  fall — from  the  whip-cord's  sting — 

They  beat  me  with  belts  round  their  jeering  ring; 

My  weary  feet  went  zigzagging; 

I  felt  the  blood  through  my  blank  brain  sing — 
That  was  not  I. 

They  stood  me  up  against  a  wall, 
I  watched  six  drunken  soldiers  crawl; 
I  heard  the  brutal  sergeant  bawl; 
I  blinked  at  the  spot  where  I  must  fall — 
That  was  not  I. 

Your  face  isn't  numb — it  has  boldness — glow — 
It  gleams  with  the  anger  angels  know. 
You  leap  like  a  shaft  from  a  twanging  bow,  Dead  Man. 
They  reckoned  I'd  my  message  sell; 
They  offered  life.    Before  I  fell 
I  answered  with  a  furious  yell, 
And  bade  them  straightway  "Go  to  Hell!" — 
And — That  was  I. 

JAMES  CHURCH  ALVORD. 

From  Everybody's  Magazine,  October,  1918,  by  permission  of  the 
Publishers  and  the  courtesy  of  the  Author. 


THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK     323 


ICARUS 

FRANK  PLANT  M'CREERY 
United  States  Air  Service,  1918 

O  Icarus,  incarnate  soul  of  flight, 

Insatiate  of  swiftness  and  of  height, 

Fit  comrade  of  the  lark  whose  heart  of  fire 

Springs  up  ecstatic  in  a  wild  desire 

To  quench  the  sun  with  song!     To  thee  the  sky 

Was  home,  the  winds  that  laugh  so  sweet  on  high 

Gave  eager  welcome  to  thy  kindred  soul 

And  thou,  as  Heaven  itself  had  been  thy  goal, 

Up,  up,  and  up  in  joyous  fearlessness 

Wast  wont  to  circle.    Who  can  ever  guess 

What  blithe  companionship  with  voiceless   space 

Was  thine  in  that  free  solitary  race — 

What  jocund  converse  with  the  sun  by  day 

And  with  the  stars  upon  the  milky  way 

When  thou  wouldst  seek  for  Stardust  at  its  source 

And  fragrant  night  was  cold  about  thy  course? 

Flying  itself  was  very  life  to  thee, 

So  dear  that  nothing  but  eternity 

Could  tempt  thee  from  it.     Now  thy  flight  is  o'er. 

The  summer  sky  shall  never  see  thee  more 

After  that  day  when  from  a  cloudy  rift 

Thou  divedst  down  to  soar  again  more  swift 

Than  ever  man  has  flown,  in  Heaven's  light 

To  satiate  thy  soul  with  perfect  height, 

O  Icarus — thou  disembodied  flight! 

ALFRED  RAYMOND  BELLINGER. 

From   "Spires   and   Poplars,"  Yale   University   Press,   by  kind 
permission  of  the  Author  and  the  Publishers. 


324    THE   WORLD   WAR:    OUTLOOK 


THE   RED    CROSS    SPIRIT    SPEAKS 

Wherever  war,  with  its  red  woes, 
Or  flood,  or  fire,  or  famine  goes, 

There,  too,  go  I; 
If  earth  in  any  quarter  quakes 
Or  pestilence  its  ravage  makes, 

Thither  I  fly. 

I  kneel  behind  the  soldier's  trench, 

I  walk  'mid  shambles'  smear  and  stench, 

The  dead  I  mourn; 
I  bear  the  stretcher  and,  I  bend 
O'er  Fritz  and  Pierre  and  Jack  to  mend 

What  shells  have  torn. 

I  go  wherever  men  may  dare, 
I  go  wherever  woman's  care 

And  love  can  live, 

Wherever  strength  and  skill  can  bring 
Surcease  to  human  suffering, 

Or  solace  give. 

I  helped  upon  Haldora's  shore  ; 
With  Hospitaller  Knights  I  bore 

The  first  red  cross; 
I  was  the  Lady  of  the  Lamp; 
I  saw  in  Solferino's  camp 

The  crimson  loss. 

I  am  your  pennies  and  young  pounds; 
I  am  your  bodies  on  their  rounds 

Of  pain  afar; 

I  am  you,  doing  what  you  would 
If  you  were  only  where  you  could — 

Your  avatar. 


THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK     325 

The  cross  which  on  my  arm  I  wear, 
The  flag  which  o'er  my  breast  I  bear, 

Is  but  the  sign 

Of  what  you'd  sacrifice  for  him 
Who  suffers  on  the  hellish  rim 

Of  War's  red  line. 

JOHN  HUSTON  FINLEY. 

By  permission  of  the  American  Red  Cross. 


326     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


THE  FLAG  IN  BELGIUM 

We  stood  on  Belgium's  tortured  soil, 

War-scarred  it  was — blood  red. 
While  Hunger  stalked  the  smitten  land 

And  widows  mourned  their  dead ; 
And  there  was  nowhere  sign  of  hope, 

And  nowhere  help  was  nigh, 
Save  in  that  spot  where  flew  our  flag, 

The  Stars  and  Stripes,  on  high* 

Beneath  it,  safe  protected,  lay 

The  food  by  Pity  sent, 
And  where  it  waved,  Compassion  stood 

With  succor  for  the  spent. 
The  little  children  blessed  the  flag, 

And  women  kissed  its  bars, 
And  men  looked  up,  again  with  hope 

To  gaze  upon  its  stars. 

Go,  trace  its  glories  to  their  source 

In  fights  by  land  or  sea, 
And  tell  of  all  that  made  this  flag 

The  emblem  of  the  free, 
But  nobler  fight  was  never  waged 

Nor  higher  honor  gained 
Than  where  this  flag  'gainst  Famine's  force 

God's  mercy  still  maintained. 

WILLIAM  C.  EDGAR. 

From  "The  Bellman,"  by  kind  permission  of  the  Author. 


THE   WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK    327 


ROOSEVELT 

[Died  January  6,  1918] 

Gray  is  the  pall  of  the  sky, 

Drear  are  the  sea  and  the  hill, 
Bitter  and  shrill  is  the  cry 

Of  gray  gulls  from  the  shore, 
White  are  the  blossoms  of  snow 

Strewn  in  his  pathway  to  still 
Footsteps  of  one  who  would  go 

From  his  lov'd  Sagamore. 

Free !   He  has  gone  to  his  own, 

Gone  to  the  men  that  he  knew 
(He  was  not  ours  alone)  ; 

Men  who  were  hopeful  and  strong, 

Men  who  were  simple  and  true, 
Freemen  who  battled  with  wrong, 
They  of  San  Juan  and  Luzon, 
They  from  the  shades  of  Argonne, 
Gather  at  call  of  the  drum, 

Proudly  they  pass  in  review, 
Shouting,  "Our  Leader  has  come!" 

Age  had  no  rust  for  his  blade, 

Bright  broke  the  steel  in  the  fray. 
Way  for  more  heroes  he  made, 

On  the  trail  he  has  gone. 
White  are  the  blossoms  of  spring, 

Blue  is  the  arch  of  the  day, 
Young  are  his  comrades  who  sing 

On  their  march  to  the  dawn. 

ROGER  STERRETT. 

From  the  Los  Angeles  (Calif.)  Evening  News.    By  courtesy  of 
the  Author. 


328     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

Gigantic  figure  of  a  mighty  age ! 

How  shall  I  chant  the  tribute  of  thy  praise, 
As  statesman,  soldier,  scientist,  or  sage? 

Thou  wert  so  great  in  many  different  ways. 
And  yet  in  all  there  was  a  single  aim — 

To  fight  for  truth  with  sword  and  tongue  and  pen ! 
In  wilderness,  as  in  the  halls  of  fame, 

Thy  courage  made  thee  master  over  men. 
Like  some  great  magnet,  that  from  distant  poles 

Attracts  the  particles  and  holds  them  fast, 
So  thou  didst  draw  all  men,  and  fill  their  souls 

With  thy  ideals — naught  caring  for  their  past, 
Their  race  or  creed.     There  was  one  only  test : 

To  love  our  country  and  to  serve  it  best ! 

LEON  HUHNER. 

From  the  New  York  Times,  by  kind  permission  of  the  Author 
and  the  Publishers. 


THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK    329 


THE  DAY 

Not  as  they  planned  it  or  will  plan  again, 
These  captains  whose  command  was  forged  in  hell, 
Not  as  they  promised  for  their  terrible 
Obedient  horde,  Teuton  and  Saracen, 
Bulgar  and  Slav,  not  as  they  dreamed  it  then, 
Masters  of  might  with  sobs  for  paeans  to  swell 
Their  darkening  sway,  but  like  a  far-off  bell 
Undoing  might,  the  day  has  come  for  men. 

The  people's  day  has  dawned :  a  deeper  sky 
Than  any  day  that  ever  rose  from  sea, 
And  more  than  any  captain  dared  is  won, 
And  this  great  light  that  opens  carries  high 
Justice  that  none  had  dreamed,  not  even  we 
Who  still  are  blind  awhile,  facing  the  sun. 

WITTER  BYNNER. 

From  "Victory"  (celebrated  by  thirty-eight  American  Poets), 
Wm.  S.  Braithwaite,  editor.  By  permission  of  the  Author  and  of 
Messrs.  Small,  Maynard  &  Company. 


330    THE   WORLD   WAR:   OUTLOOK 


THE  VETERANS 

["Battleships  seen  yesterday  and  today  lying  off  Baker's  Island 
are  among  those  recently  taken  off  duty  and  being  sent  to  Charles- 
town  Navy  Yard  for  overhauling  and  repair." — F*-om  a  North 
Shore  (Massachusetts)  newspaper.} 

Battleships  off  Baker's  Island, 

Near  our  quiet  little  cove, 
Where  the  harbor  gulls  are  flying, 

And  the  teal  and  wild  duck  rove. 
Swaying  sleepily  at  anchor, 

Gentle  -ripples  'round  them  curled  .    .    • 
Once  they  lay  in  far  French  waters, 

'Mid  the  fleets  of  all  the  world. 

Once  they  rode  the  lonely  ocean 

Where  the  billows  broke  like  snow, 
With  the  rolling  waste  around  them, 

And  the  lurking  death  below ; 
Racing  time  and  tide  and  terror 

And  the  foeman  in  the  deep: 
Now  they  lie  off  Baker's  Island, 

And  the  crews  are  all  asleep. 

With  the  convoy  strung  behind  them, 

Through  the  eerie  nights  they  crept; 
Lights  were  hidden,   chains  were  muffled, 

And  the  watches  never  slept. 
How  they  feared  the  angry-churning 

Fathom  length  of  whirling  steel ! — 
Now  they  lie  off  Baker's  Island 

With  the  harbor  ducks  and  teal. 

Once  they  braved  the  stormy  waters, 
When  the  winds  were  crowding  high, 

And  the  spume  on  stately  billows 
Swept  like  plumes  across  the  sky, — 


THE   WORLD   WAR:   OUTLOOK    331 

Once  their  bows,  amid  the  smother, 

Nosed  the  sullen  ways  of  death ; 
Now  they  lie  off  Baker's  Island, 

And  the  breeze  is  scarce  a  breath. 

But  they  made  us  paths  of  glory 

Of  those  murky  ocean-lanes, 
And  the  wonder  of  their  story 

Everlastingly  remains 

Wilder  than  a  Viking  Saga — 

Stranger  than  a  Northland  Rune — 
Though  they  lie  off  Baker's  Island 

All  this  sunny  afternoon. 

WILL  (TASKER. 

From  the  American  Legion  Weekly,  Feb.  20,  1921 ;  by  kind  per- 
mission of  the  Publishers  and  of  the  Author. 


332     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


THE  ALIEN 

Alien,  speak! 

What  do  you  seek — 
Reign  of  law  or  revolution? 

Torch  and  knife, 

Lust  and  strife — 
Are  these  your  plan  of  evolution? 

Are  you  "scum"  ? 

Do  you  come 
Curses  at  our  ideals  flinging? 

Tell  what  lies 

In  your  smoldering  eyes; 
Alien,  what  are  you  bringing? 

Nay,  I  mask 

No  devil's  task ; 
Ask  your   Pilgrim   blood   what   drew  me! 

Ask  your  sire 

How  Freedom's  fire 
Flamed  for  him — and  beckoned  to  me ! 

Chained  in  tongue  ? 

Custom-strung? 
Prey  to  wild-mouthed  agitation? 

Then  give  schools 

And  hopes  and  tools 
For  my  emancipation! 

Russ,  Swede,  Pole? 

Nay,  a  soul! 
Will  you  succor  or  forsake  me? 

Clay  am  I 

Beneath  your  sky; 
Come,  what  will  you  make  me? 

DANIEL  MAC!NTYRE  HENDERSON. 

By  permission  of  the  Author  and  of  the  Ladies'  Home  Journal. 


THE   WORLD   WAR:    OUTLOOK    333 

ODE  TO  COLUMBIA 

[Written  in  prison  in  Segedin.} 

The  old  men  die  beholding  only  ruin, 
Their  eyes  behold  no  hope,  no  truth  in  life 

The  young  men  fall  away,  at  once  or  slowly, 
Even  the  strong  give  up  the  ceaseless  strife; 

Only  a  handful  still  keep  up  the  fight, 

Only  a  few  lights  burn  amid  the  night. 

Suddenly  rises  proudly  from  the  ocean 

A  giant  woman  with  majestic  face; 
Shining  the  drapery  of  her  snowy  garments, 

Her  eyes  like  flames  upon  the  altar  place; 
Her  godlike  breast  like  marble  fair  to  see. 
"You  poor,  forsaken  children,  come  to  me. 

"O  come ;  I  know  you  bring  but  humble  packets, 
That  from  your  fatherland  no  gems  you  bring, 

That  murderous  wrath  has  chased  you  from  your 

dwellings, 
From  the  ancestral  soil  to  which  you  cling ; 

No  gifts  I  offer,  but  this  one  reward — 

Time  for  free  work,  for  human  rights  regard." 

And  they,  disgraced  here  in  their  native  country, 
Lift  up  proud  heads  since  o'er  the  seas  they  catrce. 

And  there  he  speaks  aloud  who  here  was  silent, 
And  glories  there  in  what  he  here  thought  shame. 

Columbia  to  him  self-knowledge  gives, 

Surprised  he  finds  that  only  now  he  lives. 

Hail  to  our  brothers  whom  their  stepdame  cruel 
Drove  from  their  simple  huts,  their  native  sod. 

Columbia,  thou  hast  smitten  off  the  fetters, 

Lifting  them  up  to  manhood,  heaven,  and  God. 

O  land  of  Christopher,  may  Christ  repay 

What  for  my  brothers  poor  thou  dost  to-day. 

HURBAN  VAJANSKY. 

From  "Our  Slavic  Fellow  Citizens,"  by  Emily  Greene  Balch. 
Used  by  permission  of  the  translator,  Professor  Balch. 


334     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 

DEMOS 


All  you  that  are  enamored  of  my  name 
And  least  intent  on  what  most  I  require, 
Beware ;  for  my  design  and  your  desire, 

Deplorably,  are  not  as  yet  the  same. 

Beware,  I  say,  the  failure  and  the  shame 
Of  losing  that  for  which  you  now  aspire 
So  blindly,  and  of  hazarding  entire 

The  gift  that  I  was  bringing  when  I  came. 

Give  as  I  will,  I  cannot  give  you  sight 

Whereby  to  see  that  with  you  there  are  some 
To  lead  you,  and  be  led.     But  they  are  dumb 
.    Before  the  wrangling  and  the  shrill  delight 
Of  your  deliverance  that  has  not  come, 

And  shall  not,  if  I  fail  you — as  I  might. 

II 

So  little  have  you  seen  of  what  awaits 
Your  fevered  glimpse  of  a  democracy 
Confused  and  foiled  with  an  equality 

Not  equal  to  the  envy  it  creates, 

That  you  see  not  how  near  you  are  the  gates 
Of  an  old  king  who  listens  fearfully 
To  you  that  are  outside  and  are  to  be 

The  noisy  lords  of  imminent  estates. 

Rather  be  then  your  prayer  for  what  you  have 
Than  what  your  power  denies  you,  having  all. 
See  not  the  great  among  you  for  the  small, 

But  hear  their  silence ;  for  the  few  shall  save 
The  many,  or  the  many  are  to  fall — 

Still  to  be  wrangling  in  a  noisy  grave. 

EDWIN  ARLINGTON  ROBINSON. 

By  permission  of  the  North  American  Review*  and  the  courtesy 
of  the  Author. 


THE   WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK     335 


YOU  TALK  OF  THIS  AND  THAT 

You  talk  of  this  and  that,  of  that  and  this : 
Have  you  ever  tried,  since  you've  been  over  here, 
Just  being  a  plain  American,  my  friend? 

Have  you  ever  lived  in  one  of  our  little  towns, 

Worked  side  by  side  with  fellow-citizens, 

And  shared  the  ups  and  downs  of  life  with  them? 

Have  you  ever  honestly  striven  to  accept 

This  country  of  ours  that  has  accepted  you? 

If  you  have  not,  what  right  have  you  to  speak? 

Have  you  ever  been  upon  our  Western  plains 
Waving  with  untold  miles  of  ripened  wheat? 
Have  you  ever  seen  our  mountains  and  our  farms 

and  forests, 

Our  townships  and  our  populated  cities, 
Or  got  into  the  inside  of  our  life 
Built  up  through  years  of   order,  progress,  law? 
If  you  have  not,  what  right  have  you  to  speak? 

Do  you  think  that  what  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  sought — 
Yes,  sought  and  found — was  sought  and  found  in 

vain? 

Is  Washington  a  myth  and  name  to  you? 
Have    you   ever    learned    from    Franklin's    homely 

wisdom, 

Or  from  the  large  humanity  of  Lincoln, 
Or  studied  in  the  school  of  our  great  men 
From  whom  we  draw  our  widening  heritage? 
If  you  have  not,  what  right  have  you  to  speak? 

You  talk  of  this  and  that,  of  that  and  this : 
Have  you  ever  tried,  since  you've  been  over  here, 
Just  being  a  plain  American,  my  friend? 
If  y°u  have  not,  what  right  have  you  to  speak ? 

HARRY  KEMP. 
By  permission  of  The  Outlook,  and  the  courtesy  of  the  Author. 


336     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


AMERICA  FOR  ME 

Tis  fine  to  see  the  Old  World,  and  travel  up  and  down 

Among  the  famous  palaces  and  cities  of  renown, 

To  admire  the  crumbly  castles  and  the  statues  of  the 

kings  — 
But  now  I  think  I've  had  enough  of  antiquated  things. 

So  ifs  home  again,  and  home  again,  America  for  me! 
My  heart  is  turning  home  again,  and  there  I  long  to  be, 
In  the  land  of  youth  and  freedom  beyond  the  ocean 

bars, 
Where  the  air  is  full  of  sunlight  and  the  flag  is  full  of 

stars. 

Oh,  London  is  a  man's  town,  there's  power  in  the  air; 
And  Paris  is  a  woman's  town,  with  flowers  in  her  hair; 
And  it's  sweet  to  dream  in  Venice,  and  it's  great  to  study 

Rome; 
But  when  it  comes  to  living,  there  is  no  place  like  home. 

I  like  the  German  fir-woods,  in  green  battalions  drilled; 
I  like  the  gardens  of  Versailles,  with  flashing  fountains 

filled ; 

But  oh,  to  take  your  hand,  my  dear,  and  ramble  for  a  day 
In  the  friendly  Western  woodland  where  Nature  has  her 

way ! 

I  know  that  Europe's  wonderful,  yet  something  seems  to- 

lack: 
The  Past  is  too  much  with  her,  and  the  people  looking 

back. 

But  the  glory  of  the  Present  is  to  make  the  Future  free, — 
We  love  our  land  for  what  she  is  and  what  she  is  to  be. 


THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK     337 

Oh,  it's  home  again,  and  home  again,  America  for  me! 
I  want  a  ship  that's  westward  bound  to  plow  the  rolling 

sea, 
To   the   blessed  Land   of  Room  Enough   beyond   the 

ocean  bars, 
Where  the  air  is  full  of  sunlight  and  the  flag  is  full  of 

stars. 

HENRY  VAN  DYKE. 

From  "Poems  of  Henry  van  Dyke,"  by  permission  of  Messrs. 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


338     THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


OUR  LAND 

The  gift  of  an  idealist, 

She  came  of  vision,  and  the  dream 
Of  one  who  saw  beyond  vast  waters  gleam 
The  light  of  a  new  world  without  a  name: 

A  gift  of  Life  she  came — 
She,  the  renascence  from  Earth's  ancient  woe, 
With  Raphael  born  and  Michaelangelo. 

Noiseless,  the  patient  years  went  by, 

And  only  red  men  cared  to  roam 

Her  glorious  streams,  and  call  her  mountains  home. 

Then  came  to  her,  like  pilgrims  of  the  Grail 

Whose  courage  could  not  fail, 
Others,  sad  exiles,  longing  to  be  free — 
Seekers  of  God  and  human  liberty ! 

A  blessed,  blessed  Land !   She  gave 

Ideals,  to  mankind  unknown, 

And  toiling,  taught  a  wondering  world  to  own 

The  dignity  of  toil,  despised  before : 

She  opened  a  great  Door ; 
Enlarged  the  human  mind,  and  made  men  see 
That  he  who  shares  his  freedom  is  most  free. 

Oh,  strong  and  beautiful  and  brave, — 
The  Titan-Mother  of  the  West,— 
Gathering  in  her  arms  and  to  her  breast 
The  hurt,  unfriended,  weary  and  forlorn, 

Outcast,  and  alien-born! 

How  should  the  unfriended  poor  beyond  the  seas 
Not  yearn  to  her — the  new  Hesperides  ?  .    '.    . 

Full  garners  were  her  toil's  reward ; 

But,  laboring,  always  she  dreams. 

Mistake  her  not!     'Mid  clouds  her  eagle  screams, 


THE    WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK     339 

Emblem  of  liberty  that  nothing  bars, 

And  on  her  brow  are  stars — 
Stars  whose  pure  radiance  is  not  all  of  earth, 
Enkindled  there  where  Justice  had  its  birth. 

Beloved  Land!     Apart,  she  smiled! 

But,  oh!  more  glorious  to-day, 

Life's  Larger  Summons  eager  to  obey, 

Her  strength  outpoured  to  succor  and  befriend 

A  World,  wide  without  end, 
She  waits — how  yearningly ! — the  hour  to  come 
When  laureled  Peace  shall  lead  her  heroes  home ! 

FLORENCE  EARLE  COAXES. 

By  permission  of  the  Author  and  of  Harper's  Monthly  Maga- 
zine (April,  1919). 


340     THE   WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


WASHINGTON,  THE  CAPITAL 

The  white-walled  Rome  of  an  unwritten  epic, 
Spreading  like  the  waters  of  a  new  well-run; 

Drinking  at  the  lips  of  a  clear  green  river 

Rising  in  the  fountains  and  the  wells  of  the  sun! 

Nothing  of  imperial  dust  in  her  cellars, 
Nothing  of  the  torn  old  tower  and  dome ; 

Mistress  of  her  clean  white  halls  unhaunted — 
City  of  the  sunrise,  altar,  and  home ! 

City  of  the  sunrise  hills  unhaunted 

By  the  skulls  of  kings  and  the  ribs  of  decay; 

Seeded  in  the  earth  like  a  clean  deep  tap-root — 
The  granite  in  the  oak  of  her  boughs  to-day! 

A  white  ship  built  in  a  cool  green  forest 

And  launched  with  the  green  leaves  fresh  on  her 

bow, 

Sun  on  her  sails  and  foam  on  her  anchors, 
Half-way  out  on  her  maiden  trip  now ! 

The  clean  new  Rome  of  an  unwritten  epic, 

Spreading  to  the  borders  of  a  universal  dream; 

A  white  ship  launched  on  a  universal  river. 

Steering  for  the  sun  at  the  mouth  of  the  stream! 

ALOYSITJS  COLL. 

By  permission  of  The  Nation,  and  the  courtesy  of  the  Author. 


THE    WORLD   WAR:    OUTLOOK    341 


AMERICA 

Land  of  the  High  Heart  and  the  Open  Hand, 
Land  of  the  Splendid  Shield  without  a  stain, 

Land  for  whose  future  deep-eyed  patriots  planned, 
Land  of  the  Sword  that  never  flashed  in  vain ! 

Beloved  of  Pilgrim  as  of  Cavalier, 

Your  beauteous  brow  is  wreathed  with  palm  and  pine, 
And  hunted  hearts  found  sanctuary  here 

In  your  wide  arms,  beloved  Land  of  Mine ! 

Always  You  fought  for  Freedom — first  your  own, 

Then  of  the  seas,  then  at  the  anguished  cry 
Of  desperate  peoples  crushed  beneath  a  throne. 
(God's  Great  Samaritan  that  passed  not  by.) 

You  have  gone  forth  once  more  in  high  crusade, 
Nor  was  your  conquering  banner  ever  furled 

Till  Tyranny  had  lost  its  last  stockade 

And  Freedom  was  the  Birthright  of  the  World. 

ELEANOR  DUNCAN  WOOD. 

From  the  St.  Nicholas  Magazine,  December,  1919,  by  permission 
of  the  Century  Company,  and  the  courtesy  of  the  Author. 


342     THE   WORLD    WAR:    OUTLOOK 


UNMANIFEST  DESTINY 

To  what  new  fates,  my  country,  far 
And  unforeseen  of  foe  or  friend, 

Beneath  what  unexpected  star, 
Compelled  to  what  unchosen  end, 

Across  the  sea  that  knows  no  beach, 

The  Admiral  of  Nations  guides 
Thy  blind  obedient  keels  to  reach 

The  harbor  where  thy  future  rides ! 

The  guns  that  spake  at  Lexington 

Knew  not  that  God  was  planning  then 

The  trumpet  word  of  Jefferson 
To  bugle  forth  the  rights  of  men. 

To  them  that  wept  and  cursed  Bull  Run, 
What  saw  it  but  despair  and  shame? 

Who  saw  behind  the  cloud  the  sun? 
Who  knew  that  God  was  in  the  flame? 

Had  not  defeat  upon  defeat, 

Disaster  on  disaster  come, 
The  slave's  emancipated  feet 

Had  never  marched  behind  the  drum. 

There  is  a  Hand  that  bends  our  deeds 
To  mightier  issues  than  we  planned ; 

Each  son  that  triumphs,  each  that  bleeds, 
My  country,  serves  its  dark  command. 

I  do  not  know  beneath  what  sky 

Nor  on  what  seas  shall  be  thy  fate ; 
I  only  know  it  shall  be  high, 
I  only  know  it  shall  be  great. 

RICHARD  HOVEY. 
By  permission  of  Messrs.  Small,  Maynard  &  Company. 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 

ALVORD,  JAMES  CHURCH  .....  322 

ANONYMOUS    ...        59,  71,  73,  81,  92,  98,  107,  193 

BAILEY,  LANSING  C,  275 

BALCH,  EMILY  GREENE   .....  333 

BARR,  AMELIA  JOSEPHINE         ....  313 

BATES,  ARLO  .......  22 

BATES,  KATHARINE  LEE  .          .         .          .4,  297,  305 

A"  BECKET,  THOMAS         .....  126 

BELLINGER,  ALFRED  RAYMOND           .         .         .  323 

BENJAMIN,  PARK    ......  137 

BENNETT,  HENRY  HOLCOMB     ....  264 

BERKELEY,  BISHOP  GEORGE       .         .         .         .  19 

BOKER,  GEORGE  HENRY  .         .         .177,  180,  194,  206 

BROOKS,  FRANCIS     ......  249 

BROWNELL,  HENRY  HOWARD     .         .         .         .  159 

BRYANT,  WILLIAM  CULLEN       ....  33 

BURR,  AMELIA  JOSEPHINE        .         .         .         .  313 

BURTON,  RICHARD  ......  294 

BYNNER,  WITTER 329 

CARRYL,  GUY  WETMORE 280 

COATES,  FLORENCE  EARLE         .         .         .          302,  310 

COLL,  ALOYSIUS       ......  340 

DAY,  WILLIAM         ......  89 

DELKE,  JAMES  A.   .         .         .         .         .         .  51 

DRAKE,  JOSEPH  RODMAN           ....  68 

DWIGHT,  TIMOTHY           .         .                   .         .  64 

EASTMAN,   BARRETT         .....  92 

EDGAR,  WILLIAM  C.         .....  326 

EMERSON,  RALPH  WALDO         .         .         .39,  50,  187 

343 


344  INDEX    OF    AUTHORS 

FINCH,  FRANCIS  MILES  .  .  .  .  .66,  241 
FINLEY,  JOHN  HUSTON  .....  324 
FORNERI,  ROBERT  CHARLES  (Sidney  Reid)  .  270 
FRENEAU,  PHILIP  .  .  .  .  100,  104,  111 

GIBBONS,  JAMES  SLOAN   .         .  .         .  171 

GILMORE,  PATRICK  SARSFIELD  .  .         .  212 

GORDON,  JAMES  LINDSAY          .         .         .         .  271 

GUITERMAN,  ARTHUR       .....  276 

HALE,  EDWARD  EVERETT  ....         208 

HALL,  CHARLES  SPRAGUE          .         .         .         .         153 

HALLECK,  FITZ-GREENE  .....  74 

HAWLEY,  HUDSON  .         .         .         .         .         .         318 

HEMANS,  FELICIA   ......  15 

HENDERSON,  DANIEL  MAC!NTYRE     .         .          303,  332 
HOLMES,  OLIVER  WENDELL       .          .          .48,  102,  157 
HOPKINSON,  JOSEPH         .....  90 

HOSMER,  FREDERICK  L.   .....  20 

HOSMER,  WILLIAM  HENRY  CUYLER  .         .         .         136 
HOUGHTON,  RICHARD  M.  MILNES,  LORD     .         .  17 

HOVEY,  RICHARD     .          .          .          .          .          .         342 

HOWE,  JULIA  WARD         .         .         .         .27,  173,  233 

HUHNER,  LEON       .....         316,  328 

INGHAM,  JOHN  HALL       .....  83 

JEWETT,  JOHN  HOWARD  .....  292 
JOHNSON,  ROBERT  UNDERWOOD  .  .  .  260 
JONES,  SIR  WILLIAM  .....  86 

KEMP,   HARRY         .         .         .         .         .         .  335 

KEY,  FRANCIS  SCOTT 109 

KILMER,  JOYCE        ......  320 

KING,  HORATIO  COLLINS  .....  201 

KIRK,  MURRAY  KETCHAM         ....  300 

LATHROP,  GEORGE  PARSONS     ....         190 

LILLARD,  R.  W 315 

LINDSAY,  NICHOLAS  VACHEL  ....         298 


INDEX    OF    AUTHORS  345 

LONGFELLOW,  HENRY  WADSWORTH   .         .         .  44,  154 
LOWELL,  JAMES  RUSSELL          .        1,  5,  7,  85,  133,  138 

227,  236 

LUMMIS,  CHARLES  FLETCHER  ....         125 
LYTLE,  WILLIAM  HAINES         ....         144 

MARKHAM,  EDWIN           .         .         .         .        • .  224 

MELLEN,    GRENVILLE       .....  56 

MELVILLE,  HERMAN         .....  223 

MEYNELL,  ALICE     ......  306 

MILLER,   JOAQUIN    ......  130 

MONROE,  HARRIET  ......  256 

NEWBOLT,  HENRY   .         .         .         .         .         .         213 

O'HARA,   THEODORE          .....         141 
OSGOOD,  KATE  PUTNAM   .....         199 

PAINE,  THOMAS       ......  34 

PALMER,  JOHN  WILLIAMSON   ....  185 

PARBODIE,  W.  J 18 

PAULDING,  JAMES  KIRKE           ....  8 

PAYNE,  JOHN  HOWARD     .         .         .         .         .  119 

PETERSON,  HENRY  ......  243 

PIERPONT,  JOHN 25,  55,  63 

PIKE,  ALBERT          .         .         .         .         .         .  164 

PROCTOR,  EDNA  DEAN     .         .         .  3,  30,  266 

RANDALL,  JAMES  RYDER  .....         166 

RANKIN,  JEREMIAH  EAMES       ....  13 

RAYMOND,  ROSSITER  WORTHINGTON  .         .         176 

READ,  THOMAS  BUCHANAN      .         .        53,  76,  84,  215 
REID,  SYDNEY  (R.  C.  FORNERI)       .         .         .         270 
REVERE,   PAUL         ......  37 

RICE,  WALLACE  DE  GROOT  CECIL      .        5,  79,  103,  117 

149 

ROBINSON,  EDWIN  ARLINGTON  .         .         .         334 

ROCHE,  JAMES  JEFFREY  .         .         .87,  113,  122,  288 
ROONEY,  JOHN  JEROME  ....          273,  278 


346  INDEX    OF    AUTHORS 

ROOT,  GEORGE  FREDERICK  ....  168 
RYAN,  ABRAM  JOSEPH  ("Father  Ryan")  .  .  234 

SANGSTER,  MARGARET  ELIZABETH      ...          70 
SCOLLARD,   CLINTON         .         .         .29,  61,  268,  282 
SEEGER,  ALAN         .         .         .         .         .         .314 

SHERWOOP,  KATE  BROWNLEE   ....          78 

SMITH,  SAMUEL  FRANCIS         ....         120 

SPOFFORD,  HARRIET  PRESCOTT  ....  42 

STAFFORD,  WENDELL  PHILLIPS          .         .         .         301 
STEDMAN,  EDMUND  CLARENCE  .          .          161,  290 

STERRETT,  ROGER     ......         327 

STODDARD,  RICHARD  HENRY  .  .  .  155,  163 
STREET,  ALFRED  BILLINGS  .  .  .  .  24,  36 

TASKER,  WILL 330 

TAYLOR,  BAYARD     .         .                   .         .         .  247 

TAYLOR,  TOM 230 

THACKERAY,  WILLIAM  M.                 .         .  11 

THOMPSON,  JOHN  RANDOLPH  ....  197 

THOMPSON,  WILL  HENRY         ....  203 

TlTHERINGTON,  RlCHARD  HANDFIELD         .         .  287 

VAJANSKY,  HURBAN  .....  333 
VAN  DYKE,  HENRY  ....  238,  336 
VENABLE,  WILLIAM  HENRY  ....  295 

WARD,  ELIZABETH  STUART  PHELPS  .         .         .         254 
WARFIELD,  CATHERINE  M.  .          .          .         169 

WATERMAN,   NIXON         .....         128 

WHITING,  SEYMOUR  W.  .....  38 

WHITMAN,  WALT   ....  226,  239,  253 

WHITTIER,  JOHN  GREENLEAF  .         .  146,  147,  175,  182 

218,  244,  252 
WlCKERSHAM,  J.  HUNTER        ....        317 

WILKINSON,  MARGUERITE         ....         308 

WILSON,  ROBERT  BURNS  .... 

WOOD,  ELEANOR  DUNCAN         .... 

WOODBERRY,  GEORGE  EDWARD  .          .  246,  285,  307 

WORK,  HENRY  CLAY       ....          210,  221 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

A  bit  of  color  against  the  blue  ....  70 
A  cheer  and  salute  for  the  Admiral,  and  here's  to 

the  Captain  bold 278 

A  cloud  possessed  the  hollow  field   .          .          .  203 

A  gallant  foeman  in  the  fight  ....  233 

A  great  wind  sweeps       .....  297 

Alien,   speak!            .          .          .          .                    .  332 

All  you  that  are  enamored  of  my  name     .          .  334 

America,  my  own !            .....  295 

As  billows  upon  billows  roll    ....  223 

As  falls  the  fragment  of  a  mighty  star     .          .  316 

As  one  by  one  withdraw  the  lofty  actors  .          .  253 

A  song  unto  Liberty's  brave  Buccaneer   .          .  73 

As  vonce  I  valked  by  a  dismal  svamp       .          .  159 

Awake!  arise,  ye  men  of  might!      .          .          .  137 

Ay,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down !  .          .          .  102 

Battleships   off   Baker's   Island          .          .          .  330 

Beneath  our  consecrated  elm   ....  57 

Blazon  Columbia's  Emblem       ....  30 

Brain  of  the  New  World  !    What  a  task  is  thine !  239 

Brave  Morris  saw  the  day  was  lost  .          .          .  177 
Bring  the  good  old  bugle,  boys,  we'll  sing  another 

song          .......  210 

By  the  beard  of  the  Prophet  the  Bashaw  swore  .  94 

By  the  flow  of  the  inland  river         .          .          .  241 

By  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood  .          .  50 

Came  the  morning  of  that  day  .          .          .          .  151 

Close  his  eyes :  his  work  is  done !               .          .  180 

Columbia,  Columbia,  to  glory  arise  ...  64 

347 


348  INDEX    OF    FIRST  LINES 

Columbia,  my  country,  dost  thou  hear?     .          .  256 

Come,   Freemen  of  the  land    ....  208 

Come,  stack  arms,  men !    Pile  on  the  rails  .          .  185 

Cool  should  he  be,  of  balanced  powers       .          .  155 

Dark  as  the  clouds  of  even    .          .          .          .  194 

Day  of  glory !     Welcome  Day !         .          .  63 

Dear  God,  I  raised  my  boy  to  be  a  soldier  .          .  310 

Down  the  Little  Big  Horn     ....  249 

Ebbed  and  flowed  the  muddy  Pei-Ho  by  the  Gulf 

of  Pechi-Li      .         .       ....         .         .         .  149 

Eight  volunteers !  on  an  errand  of  death !  .         .  275 

Fair  was  the  sight  that  peaceful  July  day  .          .  201 

Farewell,  Peace!  another  crisis         ...  98 

Fath'r  and  I  went  down  to  camp     .          .          .  59 

Five  fearless  knights  of  the  first  renown  .          .  5 

"Fly  to  the  mountain !     Fly  I"  .          .          .          .  254 

For,  O  America,  our  country! — land         .          .  21 

Four  gallant  ships  from  England  came    .          .  104 

From  France,  desponding  and  betray 'd     .          .  Ill 

From  gold  to  gray  ......  147 

Furl  that  Banner,  for  'tis  weary       .         .         .  234 

Gigantic  figure  of  a  mighty  age!       .          .         .  328 
"God  helping  me,"  cried  Columbus,  "though  fair 

or  foul  the  breeze    .....  3 
God  is  shaping  the  great  future  of  the  Islands  of 

the  Sea 285 

God  wills  no  man  a  slave.    The  man  most  meek  .  87 

Gray  is  the  pale  of  the  sky       .... 

Great  documents  our  chronicles  afford       .         .  307 

Hail  Columbia!  happy  land!    ....  90 

Hail  to  this  planting  of  Liberty's  tree!     .          .  36 

Hats   off! 264 

Hear  through  the  morning  drums  and  trumpets 
sounding  ...... 

Here  the  oceans  twain  have  waited  .          .          .  288 


INDEX    OF    FIRST   LINES  349 

His  echoing  axe  the  settler  swung  ...  23 

His  work  is  done,  his  toil  is  o'er       .          .          .  287 

If  they  tell  you  that  we  hold  ....  302 

I  have  a  rendezvous  with  Death  .  .  .  314 
I  have  sung  my  songs  to  the  stately  ships  that 

are  sailing  the  Seven  Seas  .  .  .  128 

In  a  chariot  of  light  from  the  regions  of  day  .  34 

In  Paco  town  and  in  Paco  tower  .  .  .  282 

In  the  gray  dim  light  where  Time  is  not  .  .  300 

In  the  prison  cell  I  sit  .  .  .  .  .  193 

In  the  woods  they  call  Rouge-Bouquet  .  .  320 
Into  the  thick  of  the  fight  he  went,  pallid  and  sick 

and  wan            ......  271 

It  cannot  be  that  men  who  are  the  seed  .  .  246 

It  is  done! 218 

It  is  portentous,  and  a  thing  of  state  .  .  298 

John  Brown's  body  lies  a-mould'ring  in  the  grave  153 

Land  of  the  High  Heart  and  the  Open  Hand     .  341 

Life  is  a  trifle         ......  305 

Life  may  be  given  in  many  ways       .          .          .  227 

Listen,  my  children,  and  you  shall  hear     .          .  44 

Long  the  tyrant  of  our  coast  ....  100 

Make  room  on  our  banner  bright     .          .          .  136 

Men  of  the  North  and  West   ....  163 

'Mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam  119 
Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of 

the  Lord 173 

My  country,  'tis  of  thee  .....  120 

No  stately  column  marks  the  hallowed  place 

Not  as  they  planned  it  or  will  plan  again  .          .  329 

Not  that  the  earth  is  changing,  O  my  God!       .  306 

O  beautiful  for  spacious  skies  ....  4 

O  beautiful,  my  country  .....  20 

O  Captain !  my  Captain !  our  fearful  trip  is  done  226 


350  INDEX    OF    FIRST  LINES 

O  Columbia,  the  gem  of  the  ocean  .          .  126 

O'er  town  and  cottage,  vale  and  height     .          .  76 

O  gallant  brothers  of  the  generous  South  .          .  243 

Oh  mother  of  a  mighty  race   ....  33 

Oh,  slow  to  smile  and  swift  to  spare  .          .          .  323 

O,  Icarus,  incarnate  soul  of  flight   .          .          .  323 

O  little  fleet !  that  on  thy  quest  divine       .          .  17 

O  lonely  bay  of  Trinity  .....  244 

Old  cradle  of  an  infant  world  ....  8 

Once  to  every  man  and  nation  comes  the  moment 

to  decide           .         .         .          .         .         .  133 

On  Christmas-day  in  Seventy-six     .         .         .  71 

On  primal  rocks  she  wrote  her  name         .         .  27 

O  say,  can  you  see,  by  the  dawn's  early  light      .  109 

O  Thou,  whose  glorious  orbs  on  high         .          .  290 

Our  bugles  sound  gayly.    To  horse  and  away !  .  176 

Our  country,  'tis  a  glorious  land     ...  18 

Out  of  the  clover  and  blue-eyed  grass       .          .  199 

Out  of  the  North  the  wild  news  came       .          .  53 

Over  the  turret,  shut  in  his  iron-clad  tower         .  213 

Pathfinder— and   Path-Clincher!         ...  125 

Rest  ye  in  Peace,  ye  Flanders  dead  .          .          .  315 

Say,  darkeys,  hab  you  seen  de  massa         .          .  221 
Says  Stonewall  Jackson  to  "Little  Phil"   . 

Shall  we  send  back  the  Johnnies  their  bunting  .  292 
She  has  gone, — she  has  left  us  in  passion  and 
pride         ....... 

She  is  risen  from  the  dead!     ....  301 

Slowly  the  mist  o'er  the  meadow  was  creeping  .  48 

Southrons,  hear  your  country  call  you!     .          .  164 

Stand !  the  ground's  your  own,  my  braves !         .  53 

Standing  up  here  on  the  fire-step     .          .          .  318 

Still  her  gray  rocks  tower  above  the  sea  .          .  74 

Strong,  simple,  silent  are  the  [steadfast]  laws    .  236 

Sun  of  the  stately  Day 247 

Tell  me,  who  are  you,  Dead  Man,  Dead  Man     ,  322 


INDEX    OF    FIRST    LINES  351 

Tell  me,  ye  winds,  if  e'er  ye  rest  .  .  .  51 

Tell  the  story  to  your  sons  .  .  .  .  113 

Thank  God,  our  liberating  lance  .  .  .  303 

The  breaking  waves  dashed  high  .  .  .  15 

The  cordage  creaks  and  rattles  in  the  wind  .  15 

The  despot's  heel  is  on  thy  shore  .  .  .  166 

The  gift  of  an  idealist  .  338 
The  kind  men,  my  brothers,  are  going  away  to 

fight 308 

The  land,  that,  from  the  rule  of  kings  .  .  252 

The  maid  who  binds  her  warrior's  sash  .  .  84 
The  mist  hangs  low  and  quiet  on  a  ragged  line  of 

hills 317 

The  muffled  drum's  sad  roll  has  beat  .  .  141 

The  Muse,  disgusted  at  an  age  and  clime  .  .  19 

The  old  men  die  beholding  only  ruin  .  .  333 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers — where  are  they  ?  .  .  25 

There  dwelt  the  man,  the  flower  of  human  kind  89 
There's  a  little  star  in  the  window  of  the  house 

across  the  way  .  .  .  .  .  311 

The  rocky  nook  with  hill-tops  three  ...  39 

The  sun  had  set 190 

The  trump  hath  blown  .....  56 

The  Volunteers  !  The  Volunteers  !  .  .  .  144 

The  white-walled  Rome  of  an  unwritten  epic  .  340 

The  word  of  God  to  Ley  den  came  .  .  .  13 

The  word  of  the  Lord  by  night  ...  187 

They  have  met  at  last — as  storm-clouds  .  .  169 

They  held  her  South  to  Magellan's  mouth  .  .  276 

This  is  the  soldier  brave  enough  to  tell  .  .  238 

This  was  the  man  God  gave  us  when  the  hour  .  83 

Thou  too,  sail  on,  O  ship  of  State!  .  .  .  154 

Thrash  away,  you'll  hev  to  rattle  .  .  .  138 

Through  the  clangor  of  the  cannon  .  .  .  103 

Thy  error,  Fremont,  simply  was  to  act  .  .  175 
'Tis  fine  to  see  the  Old  World,  and  travel  up  and 

down        .......  336 

To  eastward  ringing,  to  westward  winging,  o'er 

mapless  miles  of  sea  ....  280 

To  deities  of  gauds  and  gold  ....  29 


352  INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES 

To  drum-beat  and  heart-beat    .... 
To  Houston  at  Gonzales  town,  ride,  Ranger,  for 

your  life  ...... 

To  what  new  fates,  my  country,  far  . 
'Twas  hurry  and  scurry  at  Monmouth  town 
'Twas  the  proud  Sir  Peter  Parker  came  sailing  in 

from  the  sea     ...... 

'Twas  the  very  verge  of  May  .... 

Two  armies  covered  hill  and  plain     . 

Unconquerably,  men  venture  on  the  quest  . 

Unhappy  Boston !  see  thy  sons  deplore 

Up  from  the  meadows,  rich  with  corn 

Up  from  the  South  at  break  of  day  . 

Uplift  the  Starry  Banner !  The  best  age  is  begun 

We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred 

thousand  more  ..... 

Wearied  arm  and  broken  sword 
We  cross  the  prairie  as  of  old  .... 
We  sailed  to  and  fro  in  Erie's  broad  lake  . 
We  stood  on  Belgium's  tortured  soil  . 
What  constitutes  a  state?          .... 
When  a  deed  is  done  for  Freedom,  through  the 

broad  earth's  aching  breast         .          .          .         133 
When  British  troops  first  landed  here         .          .  81 

When  Freedom,  fair  Freedom,  her  banner  dis- 

play'd 92 

When  Freedom  from  her  mountain  height  .  68 

When  George  the  King  would  punish  folk  .  42 

When  Johnny  comes  marching  home  again  .  .  212 
When  one  marched  away  with  the  starry  flag  .  270 
When  the  Norn  Mother  saw  the  Whirlwind 

Hour        .......         224 

When    the    vengeance    wakes,    when   the    battle 

breaks 259 

Where  brims  the  broad  Ohio  as  it  foams  adown 

the  Falls 79 

Wherever  war,  with  its  red  woes       .          .          .         324 
.While  Sherman  stood  beneath  the  hottest  fire   .         206 


INDEX    OF    FIRST    LINES  353 

Who  cometh  over  the  hills       ....  85 
Who  cries  that  the  days  of  daring  are  those  that 

are  faded  far 268 

Yes,  we'll  rally  round  the  flag,  boys,  well  rally 

once  again         ......  168 

You  lay  a  wreath  on  murdered  Lincoln's  bier     .  230 

You  led  our  sons  across  the  haunted  flood         .  313 

You  talk  of  this  and  that,  of  that  and  this  .          .  335 


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